Seize Me
by Simply Abbey
Summary: Katniss is in for a surprise when she meets Gale's band-mates. The blonde haired, blue-eyed guitar player especially catches her eye. Her boundaries are pushed and she finds herself doing things she'd sworn she never would...like fall in love. AU, Modern World
1. Chapter 1

Seize Me

Chapter 1

_"When you sleep all day and still__ get paid,_

_When the sun goes down we do it all over again._

_'Cause when you're on a roll they gotta let ya go,_

_Right through the back door let the games begin"_

_Famous-Puddle of Mudd_

"Katniss! A little bit faster, if you please!"

It's hard to hear anything over the thrum of the band's loud bass, but somehow I'm able to hear Madge's nagging easily. I turn around to look back at her where she's standing at the back of the bar on the edge of the crowd. I roll my eyes and gesture at the horde of people in front of me angrily, glaring back at my friend while trying to convey my thought of _'What do you want me to do?'_

Madge rolls her eyes and gestures at her chest. Her shirt is already a usually modest V-cut, but she's made sure to wear her 'va-voom' bra tonight, so her tits literally popping out the front. Several guys are staring at her and have been tripping all over themselves tonight to buy her drinks. This effect is exactly why she wore that bra tonight and it's an effect she's trying to get me to put into play myself.

I scoff at her and turn back to the crowd in front of me. Every single one of them is vying for the same thing as me: the damn bartender's attention. I've been standing here for what feels like ages and I have yet to be served, and meanwhile the floozies down the bar from me are on their 5th round of shots. I'm thoroughly annoyed by this, especially because one of them has a squished nose and the other one's hair looks like straw, making them an unattractive duo to say the least. I wouldn't say I'm a super model or anything, that's Johanna's department. But still, I should be able to get a drink before those girl. But then I finally see what the bartender sees, now that Madge has pointed it out. There, plain as day, are their godforsaken tits popping right out of their shirts.

I grumble and peek back to make sure Madge isn't looking, then I hike down my own V-cut shirt to an indecent level. It's been a long week and Prim has given me about ten heart attacks, so I'm in no mood to wait any more to get our drinks. Still, no reason for Madge to know I've given in.

I'm not sure if I'm annoyed or pleased when the bartender turns and takes sudden notice of me. He pops me what I'm sure he thinks is his signature smile and leans over on the bar on one arm, tossing his mop of floppy golden hair, to finally take my order.

"Wha'tal it be, sweetheart?" he shouts at me over the music.

I groan inwardly but throw on my best smile and order two whisky sours, a rum 'n' coke, and a fishbowl long island ice tea. The bartender winks in response then turns away to fill up my order. And, despite my annoyance, I fill my time waiting for the drinks by enjoying the way his ass looks in his jeans when he bends over for bottles of liquor.

Hey, who says I can't objectify him too?

In the middle of enjoying my view, I feel a large body sidle up next to me, close enough that it brushes up against my arm. I can tell by the way it feels that it's a tall body, strong and muscular. And distinctly male. And therefore to be avoided. So I make a point of turning myself away from him by propping my right elbow, the one closest to him, on the bar and looking the opposite way, ignoring the sticky feeling of spilt drinks on the surface of the bar.

He doesn't take the hint.

"Hey there," he shouts at me. I continue to ignore him, but he's either too drunk or too stupid to accept defeat. Instead he gives me a solid poke on the shoulder, hard enough to actually jolt me forward. And not just a little bit. I mean, I actually stumble into the girl in front of me, who turns to give me a dirty look before going back to her senseless conversation with her companion.

Sighing, I throw my elbow off the bar and spin to face him. In the process of turning my head I hit him in the face with my hair, which is braided into a single braid that falls over my shoulder. It hits with a thud and, while I've never considered the possibilities before, I'm taking into consideration all the valuable uses of wearing a braid in a bar.

"Whoa," he yells, rubbing the spot on his right cheek where the tie at the end of my hair had smacked him. "Watch it with that."

I don't respond, instead I just stare him down. I expect my glare to make him uncomfortable, but he's either oblivious or used to girls looking at him like that.

It's not that he's not cute or anything. Like I'd thought, his body is tall and muscular, which carries through to his face in the form of a strong jaw-line and high cheekbones. His eyes are bright blue, almost white, and they glitter with mirth. His hair is a dirty blonde which is styled messily, as if he's spent all day in the sack. His grin in wide and contagious, all of the teeth the perfect shade of white and all filed to the same perfect length, and his skin is the sort of bronze you can only achieve with an expensive tanning bed. All in all, he's the picture of health and masculinity. Really, most girls would be melting just by looking at him.

But not me. I don't know if it's the single diamond stud in his right ear, the small gold chain at his neck or the white shirt that's unbuttoned halfway up his chest, but something about this guy screams 'douche'.

And really, who wants a walking, talking vag-cleaner on their arm?

The guy's getting ready to say something again, but he's interrupted by the bartender setting down four drinks in front of me.

"Thirty, seventy five," he says with his "signature" smile.

I balk. "Thirty, seventy-five for four lousy drinks?"

The bartender's smile falls at my outburst. He adopts a firm face and his is casting his eyes around, clearly looking for security in case I decide to get violent. He puts his hands up to me as if he's warding me off, saying, "Hey, I don't set the prices. Big bands equal big prices."

I roll my eyes at the bartender and start to turn away. "Thanks, but no thanks. We'll get drunk afterwards back home where it's free."

I'm walking away, preparing to face two very angry girlfriends and a disappointed sister, when a hard grip seals around my arm, holding me in place. It's Douche-Guy.

"Hey," he shouts his a classic pretty-boy smile. "No problem. The drinks are on me."

I scoff at him and spit out, "I think we'll manage just fine. We don't need a guy to-"

"Katniss!"

I flinch. It's Prim this time. She bouncing up to me, her blonde curls flouncing with her movement while her birthday tiara glitters in the bar lights. Tonight is Prim's twenty-first birthday, and the fact she's my baby sister is the only reason I've set foot in this bar tonight. That and our old friend Gale's band is playing tonight. I instantly feel guilty, knowing I'm about ready to ruin her night.

"Hey, Prim," I yell at her over the blaring music. "The drink prices here are ridiculous. We'll just have to go back home to-"

"Aw, Katniss!" Prim sighs, throwing her head back in desperation. "Come _on. _It's a _Saturday _and Gale's band is _popular_, what did you expect?"

"Thirty, seventy-five!" I retort. "Thirty, seventy-fucking-five, Prim."

"Oh forget it," Prim snaps, pulling out her wallet and stepping up to the bar where our drinks still sit. "_I'll _buy them."

"_Priiiim_," I groan, following her up there. "No, don't…"

But before I can finish my plea a big, manly hand slaps down two twenties. Douche-Guy to the rescue, apparently. Or so he seems to think. He throws a smile at Prim, who's caught totally off-guard by his appearance.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he bellows with a smile. "Can't have the birthday girl paying for the drinks, can we?"

Prim puts up a prettily manicured hand, courtesy of Madge, and giggles behind it.

"Thanks," she shouts sweetly to him, batting her eyelashes like the ignorant fool I swear she is sometimes. It's not that my sister is stupid by any means, in fact she's far more observant than I'd like, but she has this naive trust for everyone and thing that tends to get her into trouble, especially around guys who don't deserve it.

And so I can see where this is going and I don't like it one bit. I charge forward to separate the two with my body and shove the long island and rum 'n' coke in Prim's hands and take the two whiskey sours in mine.

"Sorry," I roar at him, probably a little louder than the music warrants. "But we have to get back to our friends. I'm sure you understand."

Douche-Guy's smile fades to a scowl and two lines form between his eyebrows at the same time a vein starts to pulse in his forehead as he stares down at me, his face warping from sweet and flirty to angry and violent faster than I could truly process the change.

"Now wait just a minute," he growls. "I paid forty bucks for those! The least you could do is stop and thank me."

"What's going on?" calls a strong, female voice.

It's Johanna, of course. She's standing there with her hands on her bare hips, glaring at Douche-guy. She cuts an intimidating figure tonight, dressed in a grey leather corset that exposes her mid-drift and black skinny jeans that accentuate her ass. The outfit verges on "bimbo", but she's tied her hair back in a sleek ponytail and has killer stiletto boots on, modeled after army boots. She looks like a warrior princess, which I'm thankful for tonight because she turns Douche-Guy speechless.

"Who's this?" Johanna asks, looking back and forth between Prim, Douche-Guy and me.

Douche-Guy's smile has reappeared at the arrival of another woman and he sticks his hand out to her. I'm pretty sure he thinks he's dazzling her when he tosses his head to flop his hair over and says, "Cato, ma'am. And you?"

"Thirsty," she says. She seizes the rum 'n' coke out of one of Prim's hands, then takes her by the arm and steers her away without another word.

I smirk at Johanna and start to follow, but not without turning back to give Douche-Guy/Cato a parting, "Thanks!" to which he responds with a glare and middle-finger flip-off. I'd return the gesture, but I'm still holding the whiskey sours and he's not worth the risk of spilling a drop of the alcohol he so kindly bought for us.

So I follow Johanna and Prim though the crowd, shaking my head for the hundredth time tonight at the difference in their appearances. Johanna is tall and menacing in her attire. Next to her, Prim looks like a lost fairy. She's wearing a new dress Madge made her. It's dark blue with a puffy skirt made of tulle and has a black corset for a bodice. It's cut high in the front for modesty, but Madge couldn't resist leaving the area behind the laces at the back of the bodice open to reveal a little skin. Prim's wearing sheer stockings laced with glitter and strappy, blue stilettos to match her dress. Her blonde hair is left down, at Johanna's suggestion, and Madge and Johanna had taken turns curling and styling it, topping it off with a silver "Birthday Girl" crown to ensure she'd have an endless supply of free drinks though the night. I'd been upset when I saw it all on her, worried someone would take an unhealthy interest in my baby sister, but so far all that's happened is she's been wished a few "happy birthdays". And she'd just saved me $30.75 in drinks, so my feelings on the matter have slightly improved.

Johanna and Prim arrive to Madge first, who's jumping up and down in excitement. She's disappointed when she realizes neither Johanna or Prim have her drink, but her faces lights up again when she sees me coming with hers and mine. She's on me in a second, swiping her drink out of my hands and throwing an arm around me. She lets her arm hang low over my chest and tugs at the neckline of my shirt.

"I told you," she says slyly. "The tits work."

I scowl and shrug her off, wishing I'd thought to pull my shirt back up before I'd come back over here. I reach to pull it up, but Madge smacks my hand away and puts her drink back in my hand. And then she reaches over to pull my neckline even lower.

"Come on, Katniss," she says as she does it. I attempt to fight her off, but with my hands full with two very expensive drinks, I'm helpless. "We're at a bar to see a rock band. I know you're reserved and all and _believe_ me, I get it. But lighten up a little tonight. It's Prim's birthday _and_ we get to see Gale."

I'm about to whip out a snarly retort, but I'm cut short as Madge _sticks her hand down my cleavage._ She curls her fingers and gives each of my tits a small lift, raising them up in my bra. I glance around quickly, worried someone will see what she's doing and make a scene, but one of the opening bands is on and stage now and they're good, so everyone's too busy enjoying the show to see what Madge is doing. Once she's done she pulls my shirt down further to expose my improved cleavage and steps back to survey her work.

"You'll do," she says with a smile.

I'm flabbergasted, unable to come up with anything to say to counteract what has just happened. Madge is usually right there with me on the reserved side of things. We'd both dressed modestly tonight in simple, standard-wash skinny jeans that are a moderate rise on our hips with black, V-neck shirts and our favorite jackets, hers a beat-up denim belonging to her long-distance boyfriend and mine an old, beat-up red leather jacket that belonged to my dead father. And, to class things up, we've both got on sets of black stilettos, which I can tell are killing her as much as me based on how often she's shifting from one foot to the other.

But tonight is a little different for Madge, hence the tit-popping and stilettos. See, the long-distance boyfriend who's jacket she's wearing is my old friend Gale, who's band in back in town to kick off their cross-country tour. She's been missing him like crazy and has been obsessing over every single tabloid article about his exploits with girls on the road. Luckily Madge has a straight head and knows better than to be sucked into the lies, but that doesn't mean she's not going to make sure he remembers just what exactly has been waiting for him at home. So, she's put on her 'va-voom' bra tonight to make sure that V-neck has something to show off and has piled her hair up sexily on top of her head. She's right to do it, she's gorgeous and Gale is going to freak when he sees her, but she'd been sort of self-conscious when she realized I wasn't right there with her in the outfit department. We've always kind of stuck together after college, she and I. So when one of us goes out on a limb it's scary when the other doesn't follow.

So I let my shirt stay that way. For Madge, I tell myself.

Madge takes her drink back from me and takes a long gulp, then shudders and coughs. Prim gives her a quizzical look while Johanna cackles openly.

"Strong," Madge croaks out with a smile.

I frown and take a sniff of my drink, then wince. Holy crap, no wonder these drinks are so expensive. I'm pretty sure this is 90% whiskey and only 10% sour. Is Gale's band that bad that they have to get the audience drunk to keep them from booing them off the stage?

I've never actually seen Gale perform, which is ridiculous considering how long we've known each other. I've known him since we were seven, ever since we were forever tied together by the mining accident that killed both of our fathers. And when the fancy prep school in the city started giving out scholarships, Gale and I had been on the list to get them, along with Johanna. We'd bound together as the group of outcast scholarship kids, all three of us carrying a distaste for the city kids to match their aversion to us. But somehow Madge, the daughter of a wealthy band manager in the city, had decided that she was enamored with us. She'd taken a while to break into our group, but she was nothing like the other kids in the school, which made her a bit of an outcast too. We'd become pretty fast friend and she started spending every day with us, which really seemed to piss Gale off to no end. Gale had pretty much resented her, or so I thought, up until Junior year. That was when I caught him sucking her face off behind the gym. They'd been pretty inseparable since then.

That is, until college. Despite her father's begging, Madge stayed behind with me to go to the local college. Gale had gotten another scholarship, this time to attend some fancy arts school in New York who'd actually found him though his application to a different school where his hidden talent had been a video of him playing the bass. And after he'd graduated, Madge's dad helped him and his buddies get signed to a record label. They'd been a big hit and have been touring like crazy for the last few years, opening for bigger band to build a fan base. It's been hard on Madge, but I think the reunions must be pretty fantastic, because she's stuck with him consistently through it all. It probably helps that even though he could only ever spare one night back every few months, and he'd always spent those nights with Madge.

I'd only seen him one time since graduation during a long weekend in Sophomore year when Gale and I had been able to scrape together enough money between the two of us for me to come for a few days. It has been pretty uneventful, we'd mostly sat around in his dorm room writing songs together. I'm pretty sure I met his roommate, who is apparently a band-mate now, but I don't really remember much other than how right it felt to be with Gale again after missing my friend so much. I don't even really remember if he was good at the bass or not during our sessions and I'm now frustrated with myself for not paying closer attention.

And so today is our first time seeing him play with his band, "Misery's Fortune". Hell, this was our first time _hearing_ his band. It has surprised us all when Gale announced he was going into the music business with some buddies he'd met in college, even though it really shouldn't have since he was going to school for his music. I guess none of us thought he'd take it farther than that, but he'd surprised us by not just doing it, but becoming pretty damn well-known in the process. But Gale had made Madge promise she wouldn't listen to any of the recorded music they'd put out last summer. He wanted the first time she heard their music to be live. And this was their first headlining tour and therefore the first time they'd had any say in the tour locations. I couldn't afford to make it to any of their shows and Madge was terrified of traveling alone, which had been a large factor in her staying behind for college. So Gale had made a point of requesting Panem, our hometown, for the first date on their tour.

And, apparently, we weren't supposed to see them until they started playing. Gale had wanted Madge to hide so he wouldn't see her before their set and get nervous. So Madge is herding us to a booth to chill in until they start. Johanna whines about not we're not going to be able to see anything once they start, but Gale had promised Madge that someone from security would escort us up to the front just before they started.

We slide into the booth at the back of the bar, the one with Madge's name on it. She blushes at when she sees it, brushing it aside so no one will see it. Honestly, you'd think a girl who's dad is in the music business would be used to special treatment like this at concerts. But Madge is humble and never expectant of any special treatment. In fact, she avoids it whenever possible. And this is probably why she's probably my very best friend, beside Prim of course.

This thought makes me look over at my baby sister as we slide in and I'm horrified to see that her fishbowl Long Island is over half-way gone, and she's still slurping away at the straw. She must sense my disapproving gaze because she raises her head to look up at me, a guilty smile already on her face. She shrugs at me, not in an apologetic way but in more of a _'what can you do?'_ gesture. I try not to fret, I really do. But through the death of my father, my mother's dip into depression and Gale leaving me behind...well, Prim is the only thing in life I'm sure of anymore. The only person I am certain I love. And I'd known this day, her 21st birthday, would be hard for me. She wants me to be here to celebrate with her, but I also know that she's hoping I'll be able to back off for one night. And so I try to relax, sitting back in my corner of the booth to sip my whiskey sour and attempt to not keep tabs on the level of her drink.

Which is going pretty well for me until a tall, dark-skinned man in all black comes over and deposits fresh duplicates of our drinks at our booth.

"From Mr. Hawthorne," he says with a smile. I can hear him easily now that the band who'd just been playing has stepped down to let "Misery's Business" set up. The noise of their tuning and sound-checks is still an annoyance, and I think I can hear Gale's voice a few times, but it's still minimal enough that shouting at the top of our lungs isn't necessary. "He said for Ms. Katniss to...relax and let her sister enjoy her night." My jaw drops at this and Prim's hiding a giggle behind her hand again. "And to tell you ladies that they'll be starting the set in the next couple of minutes. I'll be back in five to take you to the front of the stage."

I feel Madge stiffen beside me at his words. Everyone else thanks the man, who's carrying away our empty classes, but I've turned my attention to Madge. Her face has gone pale, but I can see bright splotches of red rising on her cheeks and chest.

"Madge?" I ask softly so only she can hear me. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" she squeaks out, bowing her head and refusing to meet my eyes. "Why would you think something's wrong?"

I give a short laugh at this. "Honestly, Madge, how long have we known each other?"

Madge lifts her head to look at me now, a sheepish smile on her face. "I know. You're right." She sighs and slumps back in the booth, bringing her drink with her so she can sip on it while she sulks. "I guess I'm just nervous. I mean, I haven't seen him in months. And I've been eating all that cheese Prim's been bringing over...I just can't seem to help myself, it's so rich and creamy and-"

I hold up my hand to stop her, shocked by what I think my beautiful, slender friend is alluding to. "Madge," I ask, "are you having _weight worries_?"

Madge tries to look away from me and gives a nervous little titter of a laugh. "No...well, I mean, maybe. I mean, I've put on a few pounds since the last time he saw me..." She trails off at the stony look on my face.

"You. Are. Not. Fat." I say each word slowly and individually to emphasize my point. "Honestly, Madge, since when do you worry about that stuff? Are the tabloids getting to you?"

She bristles at this. "No!" she insists. "I'm just nervous about seeing him again, ok? You've never done the long distance thing before, Katniss. You don't know what it's like."

I open my mouth to give a snappy retort about how there's a _reason_ I don't do relationships period, but Madge is saved from by my anger by Prim, who's noticed the tension and has jumped in quickly to change the subject. She's quickly moving Madge on to different, happier topics, leaving me to my turn at sulking in the booth.

Before I feel I'm sufficiently done pouting the big dark-skinned man is back at our table, ready to escort us to the front of the crowd. Johanna follows ahead first, blazing a trail behind the man easily, making room for Prim to skip happily behind her as if she's turned 12 and not 21. But the crowd quickly swarms up again behind Prim, leaving Madge and I to elbow our way through the bodies to keep up. The man has led us along the left edge of the crowd where the density is the least, so I can't imagine what it's like at the center.

He turns right after a moment or two as we reach the front of the crowd and gestures to a small area that's been gated off from the crowd to protect us from any violent thrashing that may occur. He gives us a small smile, asks us if we need any more drinks and, to my horror, takes an order for another Long Island for Prim. I open my mouth to protest but Madge gives me a sharp look and Johanna reaches over and sinks her nails into the skin of my arm, effectively hushing me. I take a deep breath and remind myself that tonight is about my sister having a good time and Madge getting to see Gale. I'm just along for the ride and, therefore, should just stand back and shut it.

The small gated area set for us is dead center in front of the stage but set back far enough we don't have to crane our necks to look up at them. I see Gale off to our right, his bass slung over his shoulders and hung low near his pelvis as he runs a quick stream of notes in one last check. He's dressed in jeans and his custom white shirt, which is typical Gale attire and something I find soothing to see. He doesn't look much changed, which is a relief, except for the few tattoos here and there that I can see on his wrists and upper arms. I look over at Madge to see what she thinks, but she doesn't seem concerned so none of this must be new changes. I'm amused to see a glitter at his left eyebrow and I realize that he's got an eyebrow piercing. Interesting.

I take a moment to survey the rest of the group. I immediately know who I'll see behind the drums. Gale's brother, Rory, is in the band too. Rory had forgone his college scholarship, much to the frustration of both Gale and their mother, and had elected to take an apprenticeship at the Justice Building. We'd all known it was a stupid idea and that Rory wouldn't be the least bit happy, but he was _sure_ it was a fast-track way to the money the family so desperately needed. And Rory had promised Gale he'd take care of the family until Gale's band got established, so he'd stuck with it as long as possible. But a few months ago when the band's drummer had flaked out of them, Gale had made a call to Rory to come join him in New York. Rory had won over the other band members easily and was immediately inducted into the band as the drummer. And it suites him. He has a bandana folded over into a strip tied around his forehead, which looks pretty comical on him when he has his tongue stuck out like that in concentration while testing and adjusting his drums. His eyes flick out to the audience momentarily and he spots us. He gives us a quick wave before casting a look at the back of Gale's head, remembering the rule about not seeing us. He gives us a guilty smile, then goes back to his adjustments.

There are two other people in the band, both with blonde hair. One of the blonde boys is standing back to the left with a guitar slung low over his pelvis like Gale. He's wearing a pair of loose blue jeans that are ripped at the knees with a black shirt and a beat-up black leather jacket. He's standing with his head down, making adjustments to the strings, and the only impression I get of him is strong, wide shoulders and a mop of curly, hay-blonde hair.

The other blonde, though, is stunning and impossible to ignore. He's not really blonde, exactly. If I was forced to describe it, I would probably use the word "bronze". He's tall and lean with the body of a long distance runner or swimmer. He's wearing a set of relatively tight black jeans that hang low on his hips. His shirt is a simple white to match Gale's, but it rides high while he holds on to the microphone, running his last mic checks before they start, and we can see the delicious "V" of his hips in the exposed strip of skin. His eyes flick down to us and he gives us a mischievous smile. I'm hit with the impression of sea-green waves baring down on me when our eyes meet briefly. But just as quickly he moves his gaze back to the man at the right side of the stage who's controlling his microphone's volume, giving him a series of thumbs up or down until he's satisfied with the level.

"I call the singer," Johanna hisses to me and Prim. Prim giggles and I know she's not upset by this, because my baby sister has always had a thing for Rory Hawthorne, who I know is the real reason she'd been so eager to come here tonight.

I surprise myself by saying, "Go ahead, Jo. You can have him."

And I'm being truthful when I say this because I really have no interest in the singer. I can appreciate what a fine specimen he is and I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't enjoy a quick tumble in a bed with him for the fun of it. But my interest in him stops there, making him not worth the fight with Johanna for his attentions.

And then, suddenly, the band must be satisfied with their sound checks. Some unseen signal goes though the group, and then Rory's counting off and the music starts, making the crowd thrum with excitement.

Gale's the first one to start, his fingers sliding effortlessly over the stings of his bass as he starts out with a simple, mournful medley. It seems to draw the crowd in as they hold their breath, waiting to see what song the band will start with. And then the singer croons something into the mic the sets the crowd off, an apparent giveaway to the song, and then the band launches headfirst into a hard, bass-heavy song.

Gale's more comfortable than I've ever seen him. He's got the bass slung over his hips and it seems to be a part of him, moves with him as he shifts his hips to reach the note he's looking for. He's stoic and serene for most of the song, except for when he gives one of his band mates an excited smile. I can feel Madge hopping up and down beside me and I know that this is probably one of the best nights of her life, getting to see her boyfriend after months of separation and finally getting to see him play his music.

The singer's voice is smooth as butter through the more melodic lyrics, but most of the time he's in a near growl and I can feel Johanna, along with every other girl in the bar, swoon with his words. He's intense and jumping with the music, holding the microphone close to his lips, as if he needs it to breathe. He moves around a little to move with his band-mates, but he's sure to make sure he's in constant contact with the audience, looking over the crowd passionately. But despite his connection with the audience I can tell he's still so in tune with the band, especially Rory, who it taking all of his beat cues from the singer. I can tell Prim is in tune with Rory too, because she's bobbing with all of his hits, not just with the beat.

But, then something hits in the music and the guitar rings through the air and my eyes are immediately pulled the blonde guitar player, who's head is still dipped intently over his guitar. But I'm entranced by the way he's moving now, slinging his guitar off to the side when he lets a string of notes play out, and I can see by the way he's moving his body that he's been sucked into the music with the rest of his band. I can tell he's particularly in sync with Gale, following his cues as he takes them from Rory. His hips dip forward as he follows a string of particularly sexy notes that makes my breath catch in my throat. A part of me is surprised with myself. I mean, really, when did _strings of notes_ become sexy to me? But then he finally lifts his head to give Gale a smile and my heart stops.

There, in front of me, are the bluest eyes I have ever see. If the singer's were sea-green, this guitarist's are Caribbean blue. And right in the middle of another one of his hip-dips, they lock onto mine. And I'm a goner in that moment.

Katniss Everdeen does not do romance.

Katniss Everdeen does not do love at first sight.

But Katniss Everdeen does fuck.

And I promise myself that someday, I'm going to fuck this man. I don't know when, I'm not sure where, and I'm still formulating the how as I watch him play. But I know that, one day, this man is going to be in my bed. And it's going to be hot.

"I changed my mind," Johanna hisses in my ear again. "I want the guitar player."

I shove her way, playing it as a joke. But I'm genuinely irritated with her this time when I respond to her claim.

"You already picked yours. The guitar player is mine," I snap at her.

Johanna's eyes widen but she leans back, biting her lip to hold back a smile. Madge turns and gives me a surprised look, tilting her head to the side as if trying to decipher if I'm serious. I give her a look that lets her know that I am very, very serious about this. She gives me a pleased half-smile, then goes back to enjoying the show her boyfriend is putting on for the crowd. Prim looks at me quizzically, having missed the exchange. I don't bother trying to explain it to her, instead giving her a happy smile that always pacifies her. It works again today, because she returns her gaze back to the stage.

The songs shifts then into something slower but more intense. Less jumping around, more leaning into instruments while the singer grips the microphone stand intently. This gives the boys a chance to look over the crowd, who's practically humming as the new song brings them down from the intensity of the last one. Gale's eyes finally meet Madge's and I see him light up with excitement. He wink's in Madge's direction, to which she responds by blowing a kiss. He shakes his head at her but smiles, then returns his attention to the rest of the band. Rory sees Gales exchange with Madge and, taking it as a sign that communication with us is now allowed, his gives us a quick wave while the sound of the singer's voice and the guitar lazily circle the bar alone. But the reprieve is short, because within seconds Rory's sticks are back on his drums and the music picks up in intensity.

This song is more my style, something to grind to slowly instead of hopping around like a mad woman. Without thinking about it, I feel my hips start to move in small, slow figure eights to the beat of the music. I look over at Madge to see she's swaying too, her eyes locked so purposefully on Gale with a look so lustful I feel as though I've interrupted something very personal. I tear my eyes away from her to look at Johanna, who's biting her bottom lip as she watches the singer move on the stage, sliding the microphone stand up his body once or twice in a way that has her eyes widening. And then there's sweet little Prim, who's face is one of pure, innocent joy and watching two of the men we've grown up with doing something so exciting.

But then my eyes are drawn back to the stage by the sound of guitar. He's playing a solo this time, whereas last time it had just been a moment of intense guitar amid the other instruments. His skills are being allowed to really show now and I wonder how I'm going to make it through the show if he's going to be doing this repeatedly. I glance around the rest of the audience, wondering if anyone else is feeling the same way, and I'm frustrated to see that, yes, other women are ogling him in the same way as me. Which shouldn't be so upsetting to me, but it is. I mean, hadn't I staked a claim? Sure, only Johanna heard it, but the power of my possession should have been strong enough for every estrogen-filled, self-preserving person in the audience should have known he was not theirs to take. Right?

I'm able to take in appearance a little more now that I'm not being trapped by those eyes. He's got an eyebrow piercing to match Gale's, which has me wondering if the two maybe got them together. He's got a tattoo on his upper right arm and something around his left wrist, but he's actually pretty clean for a guitarist in a rock band. He's cleanly shaven, which lets me admire his strong jaw and the curve of his lips. He's got a smirk on his face now and I can tell he enjoys playing this song more than the other one, probably because he really gets to tear up the guitar in this one. I'm blown away as I watch his finger move swiftly over the strings as he slides from one note together in a run that seems to go on forever, rising in intensity until he slams on the last note, dropping the guitar in a dramatic dip as he ends it. And then he raises his head again and, without hesitation, he looks right at me for the second time tonight.

Madge leans over, pressing her lips almost completely against my ear, to whisper to me, "Peeta is looking at you."

I'm startled by this, turning my head to look at her so suddenly that our noses brush. Madge, inebriated, giggles at this.

"Don't _kiss_ me," she sputters, biting her lip to hold in her giggles.

I ignore her, asking, "Who's Peeta?"

Madge rolls her eyes and tilts her head toward the stage. "Peeta! The guitar player..."

My eyes shoot to the stage and I see that his eyes haven't looked away my face through the whole time he plays. I'm caught off guard by his steady gaze and I feel the warmth of his gaze travel straight from my head, through my head and down to my pelvis, where it pools between my legs, creating a delicious ache. I realize, utterly embarrassed by the thought, that he must see something in my eyes because he gives me a shy smile and wink before turning back to make eye contact with Gale before they traverse into a section of particularly tricky notes together.

"I can introduce you later, if you like," Madge shouts in my ear, loud enough that both Johanna and Prim can hear what she says.

Prim tugs eagerly at my jacket sleeve, grinning at me excitedly.

"Oh please, Katniss," she begs me sweetly. "Can we please?"

Johanna snorts. "Do what you like. I'm going to meet that singer whether you give me a formal introduction or not."

Madge rolls her eyes at Johanna. "Finnick? Trust me, you'll need to me give you a formal introduction if you want to get anywhere near him. They get practically mauled after every performance, so security rushes them straight off stage to their dressing room and only pre-approved parties are allowed in there, and only after the bar is cleared out for the night."

I smirk at Madge, seeing where she's going. "But I bet, being the bassist's main squeeze, you're pre-approved."

Madge returns my smirk with a wide wink. "We all are, obviously. Gale's excited to see all of us and wants to introduce us to Peeta and Finnick. They're all practically brothers now, an on-road family. So I have to pass Peeta and Finnick's approval before we can join in."

I frown at Madge, worried by the last bit of this statement. "What do you mean 'join in'?"

But Madge doesn't get a chance to explain, because the music has changed again, back into something loud and face-paced. I can make out something along the lines of 'we'll explain later' and then she's turned back to the stage to watch Gale. I watch her for a minute, remembering all the other plans of Madge's that, well-meaning as they were, had gone array. I can't help think that this could be another one. But sitting here and fretting over it isn't going to help anything, so I turn away from Madge and resume my drooling over a certain blue-eyed guitar player.

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

So...this fic kind of got away from me. I'm currently writing Kindled Ember, which is a more serious, post-mockingjay fic I've been wanting to write for a long time. It's a story near and dear to my heart that I just have to tell, but unfortunately stuff like this has no place in it. So this was supposed to sort of be a drabble for myself to vent all of my sexual frustrations for "Kindled Ember" into...but, as can happen, the little shit evolved into a full-fledged story. Once I hit 45 pages I realized I not only had to post it, but it was going to be a short-story instead of a one-shot.

And so I bring you "Seize Me" :)

In case anyone is a crazy person like me and need music to go with the story, I kind of envisioned a song similar to "Famous" by Puddle of Mudd as the first song their band plays. For the second one, I was inspired by "Shackled" by Vertical Horzion. Oh, and yes, I am a 90s child :)

Hit me up on tumblr, you'll find me under the name "simplyabbeycat" over there.

Love and kisses!


	2. Chapter 2

Seize Me

Chapter 2

_"Hey oh, here I am,_

_And here we go, life's waiting to begin._

_I cannot live, I cannot breathe,_

_Unless you do this with me."_

_The Adventure-Angels and Airwaves_

I'm practically aching with need when the show ends, having been drooling over this Peeta character for a solid hour and a half, and I have to keep my legs clamped together while we wait to get in to see the boys in an attempt to calm the throbbing at my core. As I'd watched him, I'd realized I probably wouldn't have even noticed him in a crowd if it hadn't been for him being in Gale's band. And I think how awful that seems, how vain. But, in my defense, not many guys really stand out to me. Most of the time they just sort of appear, like Douche-Guy/Cato, and I either take them up on their offer or shoot them down. And I've certainly never gone out of my way to meet a guy.

Which is why the fact that I'm standing here with Madge, Johanna and Prim waiting to see Gale and his sexy guitar friend is so amusing to everyone.

"I'm surprised, Katniss," Madge says with a knowing smirk. "I thought you'd have tried to duck out as soon as the show was over, offer to pull up the car or something."

"I was to see Gale," I retort with a sniff, annoyed at what she's insinuating.

Prim rolls her eyes at me with a smile. "Sure," she says, drawing the vowels of the word out in a way that makes me want to give her a swift kick in the shins, just to shut her up. She's lucky it's her birthday.

I'm trying to figure out something witty to say in response when the big escort from the concert comes to meet us where we've been waiting at the door leading to the backstage dressing area. He gives us a wave as he approaches, smiling broadly at us.

"No fights tonight," he says giddily. "Somehow the boys' concerts always seem to lead to a fight or two. We were lucky tonight."

We all turn to each other, eyes raised in surprise, when he says this. Really? _Gale_'s band provokes riots? What have we missed?

"Mr. Hawthorne said for you guys to come straight back once everything cleared out," he says, knocking on the door in front of us. Another tall, strong man is opens it from the other side. He's dressed in an outfit to match our escort, meaning he's also part of security. He sees us standing there and smiles.

"Hey, Marshall," he says in greeting to our escort. "These the girls?"

Marshall nods, his teeth made brighter by contrast with his skin. "Yeah, Chad. These are them. Misses Katniss, Prim, Madge and Johanna."

We all give Chad a nervous round of 'hello's and he's grinning at us stupidly as he opens the door wider so we can slip past him. He exchanges a few words with Marshall, and then he closes the door behind us, effectively shutting out the last of the chatter from the show.

"Right this way," he says, turning to walk down the hallway. We follow him in a scurry of leather and high heels, not wanting to be left behind.

Prim, unable to bear even the smallest period of silence, asks Chad, "So, do you guys travel with them, or are you the club's security?"

Chad turns and gives Prim a grim smile and says, "Yeah right, you think clubs like this have the security for a band like this? Nah, we travel with them. It sucks, because we have to spend all day coordinating everything to match the venue." He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "I'm just glad I do security and not babysitting."

"Babysitting?" Johanna asks, tilting her head to the side in interest.

Chad chuckles. "Yeah, keeping them on a schedule, making sure they have everything perfect for the dressing room, that sort of thing. I guess they're not bad as far as rock divas go, but I don't have the patience for that shit. I'd rather get the chance to throw around some drunks then get to sit on the sidelines with the band."

He's led us down to nearly the end of the hallway, stopping at a set of double doors. There's a simple piece of printer paper taped to the front of the door with the name "Misery's Fortune" scrawled on it.

"This is them," Chad says. "Go ahead and head on in, I've got to go help Marshall get stuff wrapped up before we take off tonight." And then, without another word, he's turned on his heel and is going back the way we just came.

A nervous shiver goes down my spine and I can feel Madge echo it. Prim and Johanna are excited in a 'we're meeting the band' way, but for Madge and I this is different. I haven't seen Gale for four years, since that long weekend sophomore year. Madge, who is convinced Gale is the love of her life, hasn't seen him for a few months and has been enduring tabloids insisting every female within a 7 foot distance of him is sleeping with him. Prim knows Gale from back home, but to her he'd always been the cute, older friend of her sister's. Johanna knows Gale too from our time in high school together, but they hadn't been best friends like he and I and they hadn't really kept in touch after graduation.

Madge reaches out and takes my hand in hers. I look over at her and smile, and I can see the excitement there in her eyes, the tears of relief threatening to fall over her lashes. Yes, we've missed Gale terribly. Seemingly reassured by my presence and equal state of mine, Madge sighs and squares her shoulders then reaches forward and pushes open the door.

After which she's immediately enveloped into an embrace by Gale.

"_Madge_," he sighs into her hair as he holds her. I can see that she's got his shirt in a death grip, her nails biting into the fabric as if she's scared to let go. And I know she probably is. Gale's got one hand at her back and the other is buried in her hair, holding her to him. "I've missed you."

And then he's pulling away from her and planting a sweet kiss on her lips, which makes Prim, who's stepping up in front of me with Johanna, sigh wistfully.

At the sound of Prim's sigh Gale pulls away from Madge and turns to take in my baby sister. She's grown since he last saw her, when she'd little pretty thing of sixteen. And now she stands before him a woman, and I can tell he's having difficulty connecting the two images in his head. But he gracefully shakes his head and smiles at her and gives her a quick, one-armed hug that makes her blush.

"Hiya, birthday girl," he says with a laugh. "Not getting in too much trouble tonight, I'm sure?"

He says this last bit as a question, which makes Prim laugh. "Only just enough," she says, beaming up at him.

He chuckles and releases her, then turns to give Johanna a good once-over. She's been standing there with her arms crossed and her hip popped to the side, waiting for him to notice her. Gale whistles, which relaxes her posture and I can make out a grin on her face as she twirls wickedly for him.

"Look at you, Jo," he cackles, reaching to embrace her as well. "How many asses did you have to kick to keep sleaze-bags off my girl?"

Johanna rolls her eyes as she pushes him away from her, but she's grinning ear to ear when she says, "None for her tonight. I think they could sense her infatuation with the bassist."

Gale grins at this and turns back to look at Madge, who's blushing vividly now. Gale bends over and reaches out to take her hand and bring it to his mouth. He places a soft kiss there on the top of her hand while looking into her eyes and saying, "Well of course she is. Or maybe they could just sense that the bassist would have them thrown out if they touched her." Madge shakes her head as a brush-off of this but she doesn't pull her hand out of Gale's until Johanna speaks up again.

"Actually," Johanna says, stepping back to stand beside me, "it's this one I actually had to rescue tonight when Prim proved to be a very bad wing-woman."

I can see Prim stick her tongue out at Johanna and now I'm blushing, annoyed at the suggestion of weakness on my part. As if I'm incapable of taking care of myself.

"I had it under control," I reply angrily. "He'd even paid for the drinks."

At the mention of me Gale straightens up, gently dropping Madge's hand, and turns to look at me. My heart catches in my throat as he gives me his widest smile yet. I open my mouth to say hi, but I'm cut off as he strides forward and seizes me into a bear hug, spinning me around so fast that my legs fly out behind me. Normally I would smack him or demand he put me down, but it feels good to have Gale hug me again, to be able to smell his distinct scent even through the cloud of smoke and alcohol that hangs on him from the bar. He laughs loudly in my ear and squeezes me close to him and I can't help laughing with him. And then he slows our spinning and plants a huge, sloppy kiss right on my lips.

He pulls back to look at me, grinning as I splutter at him. I'm trying to come up with something to say in response to what's just happened and fail, but I give him a few smacks on the shoulder to compensate for my lack of verbal scolding. Gale doesn't falter, instead he just puts me back down on my feet and holds me out at arm's length to get a good look at me.

"I've missed you, Catnip," he says with his mega-watt smile. "Madge keeps me updated on everything, but I feel like I've missed so much. You look good."

I look over at Madge, worried what her response to all of this will be, and I'm relieved to see she's beaming at both of us like a proud parent.

"He really has missed you, Katniss. He's always asking about you, wanting me to relay our every 'adventure', pressuring me for every little detail about your life. It really is annoying." She says this with mock anger, but it's ruined by that smile on her face.

Gale's about to give Madge what I'm sure he thinks is a witty retort when the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat interrupts him.

Finnick, the singer, steps up with eyes shining in amusement and says, "Well, Gale-o, are you going to introduce me or just keep hogging them for yourself?"

I can practically feel Johanna's body start to thrum to life with anticipation at the appearance of the green-eyed god.

Gale laughs and releases me to move to stand with Finnick. Finnick laughs with him and gives him a good whack on the shoulder with a fist. Gale moves to punch him back but Finnick is too fast, jumping aside so Gale's punch only hits air. Finnick chortles some more, but the next time Gale comes at him he's not fast enough. Gale's arm reaches out and he manages to seize Finnick's neck in the crook of his elbow. He then brings his arm in so Finnick's head is pinned to his chest in a headlock.

"This-" Gale grunts out while trying to keep a hold on a struggling Finnick, "is our disgusting singer, Finnick."

Finnick's struggling eventually pays off when he manages to squirm from Gale's grasp. He stumbles away from us once he's free, his hair tousled and his eyes bright with merriment. I think all the girls in the room go simultaneously wet at the sight of him.

"Disgusting, you say?" says Finnick. "I do believe I've been told I have the voice and looks of an angel."

Gale rolls his eyes. "He lip sings."

Finnick gasps in real horror at this. "I do not!"

Gale shakes his head, suddenly too overcome with laughter to respond. Eyes wide, Finnick turns to Madge, his bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

"Madge, darling, can't you do anything about that?"

Madge has been laughing quietly at the exchange between the boys, but now she composes herself and manages to get out, "Gale, really?"

Gale manages to bring his laughter to a stop with the look in Madge's eyes effectively snuffing it out. Shaking his head he reaches for Madge and pulls her up to his body where he holds her in a tight hug. He bends down and kisses her forehead, making her blush.

"Alright, Odair," he says. "These are our friends from back home. Johanna and Prim and-"

"Katniss."

It's not Gale who says my name. It's not any of the girls or Finnick either. Our heads all snap around to see Peeta leaning up against a dressing station, the lights around the mirror casting shadows on one side of his face. My eyes snap to his and I'm overcome by the blue of them. His eyes are intent on mine, as if he's trying to decipher something in my gaze, and I feel a blush start to creep up my neck to my face. Even with my gaze caught in his I'm able to make a quick assessment of his appearance. His black leather jacket is off and slung over the back of the chair he's standing next to. With it off I'm able to appreciate his sinewy arms, which are exaggerated by his crossed arms. His shoulders are wider than I had originally thought. He's not really built like a football player like Gale or a swimmer like Finnick. Maybe more like a wrestler. Short and compact, but built for speed and strength. Strong and hot...I'm pretty sure I'm screwed at this point.

_'Or at least_,' the dirty part of my mind thinks, '_I hope to be_.'

I'm about to ask how he knows my name when Gale says, "Oh, that's right, Peeta. I forgot you'd met Katniss when she visited a few years ago. Good memory."

I yank my eyes to look at Gale, silently asking him what the fuck he's talking about. I sure as hell would have remembered eyes like that if I'd seen them before. He's been showing pictures or something, I know it. Leave it to fucking Gale to show off all his lady friends from back home.

Dick.

"You did, Catnip!" Gale retorts to my stare. "Peeta was my roommate in college. You had to have seen him, like, ten times while you were visiting."

Oh. Well that explained it, then. I remember there being a roommate, registering that it had been a male. I also remember now Gale saying his old roommate was the one he'd started the band with. I'm suddenly regretting not paying more attention when I'd visited. Maybe then I wouldn't be so overcome by the sight of Peeta. He'd be old news to me by now and I could concentrate more on taking care of my baby sister on her birthday instead of gawking at a blue-eyed guitar player. I'm lucky tonight's the only night I'll see him. He'll leave for their next venue and I'll allow him to feature in a few of my fantasies for a while until it becomes old, then I can forget all about him. I can move past my erotic imaginings and this will just have been an exciting night for Prim's 21st birthday.

Who has, in fact, disappeared into a corner of the dressing room with Rory and is running her hands up and down his arms while they talk. She's leaning against the wall, her weight all on one leg while the other is popped up femininely. I wouldn't be so concerned if it hadn't been obvious that, after three Long Islands, she's a little unsteady on her feet. I'm about to go over and pull her away from Rory, preventing her from making any bad decisions, but a look from Gale stops me cold. The look says that he will embarrass me in front of everyone, throwing me over his shoulder if he has to, to keep me from pestering Prim tonight. I huff and cross my arms, but I stay put.

"Katniss?" Finnick asks, raising an eyebrow as he takes on a mischievous smile. He steps up and takes one of my hands in his, bringing it up to brush his lips against it like Gale had done to Madge. "I've heard a lot about you. You and Gale have been friends since you were, what, ten?"

My blush is full on now, coloring my cheeks a bright red in my embarrassment.

"Seven," I correct, my voice far more light and airy that I would have liked.

Finnick gives me a knowing smile as he takes in my blush. He plants a firm kiss on my hand then stands up straight to look me dead in the eyes, an sea of green washing over me. His thumb traces over the place where his lips had touched my skin, sending skittering waves of pleasure through my body.

"A long-time friend, then," he says in a deep, gravelly voice that sends a shiver up my spine. "I'd imagine Mr. Hawthorne knows quite a bit about you."

"Which makes her off limits, Odair," Gale snaps.

Finnick laughs and releases my hand, then turns to look at Johanna, who has been bristling over the attention he's been giving me. She's caught off guard by his gaze suddenly being on her and she begins shifting foot to foot in a discomfort that is very un-Johanna.

"What about you, hm?" he asks, stepping toward Johanna. "Are you off limits to me too?" And in the same fashion as he had me, Finnick picks up Johanna's hand and brings it to his lips. But instead of laughing nervously and blushing as I had, Johanna has recovered. A corner of her lips lifts in a sultry half-smile and her eyes twinkle with excitement.

"No," Gale says with a laugh. "You can have that one."

I expect Johanna to throw a witty retort at Gale, but instead she just rolls her eyes and continues to stare intently at Finnick. But he doesn't seem to notice her intensity on him as he stands up straight again. He's already looking over her shoulder at something on the wall that I don't see.

"Nice to meet you, Finnick," she says, her voice low and seductive. I have to concentrate in order to not roll my eyes at her.

"The pleasure, my dear Johanna, is all mine," he responds, his voice an automatic low croon to match hers. Johanna flushes in response but I get a sick feeling in my stomach, seeing his indifference and her immediate attachment. Somehow I don't think this is going to go Johanna's way. Again, I am relieved this is only a one-night thing.

"Is anyone else as nauseated by this as I am?" Peeta asks, standing up straight and walking over to us.

He moves to stand between Johanna and Finnick, an impish on his face as he kills the sexual tension faster than a cool bucket of ice water ever could. In the movement of his approach he brings his smell with him and I'm hit with the scent of cinnamon, dill and oil paints, which intrigues me. Not something you can really pick up at your local department store. Definitely a smell you pick up by contact. For a half-second I'm disappointed that I only have this brief time tonight to learn about him. But only for that long. Then I'm remembering my summer plans and how thoroughly boys have always fucked up everything for me. No, it's good they're leaving tonight.

"Yes, let's talk about something else," Madge says, a mock frown coming over her face. "Like, let's talk about this."

She's pointing to the bar in Gale's left eyebrow. I'm amused by this, apparently having been wrong about it being an old accessory. Gale has the decency to look guilty as he raises a set of fingers to brush over the offending stud. The change in atmosphere has acquired Prim's attention. She and Rory are coming over to join us now, as eager as the rest of us to see how this will play out.

"I'd noticed that," Prim says cheerily, her blonde curls bouncing around her while she rocks back and forth on her heels, forever unable to stay still. "It looks good."

"It was Peeta's idea, actually," he says nodding to Peeta.

Peeta gives a small smile and shakes his head saying, "I never told you to do anything. I just asked you to come along. You're the one who thought it looked bad-ass and wanted one yourself."

Gale rolls his eyes. "Please. Like it was your first piercing. You didn't need me there to hold your hand or carry you out the door if you fainted. You knew I'd want one too once I got there."

Peeta's about to respond when Prim asks, "You have more than one?"

Gale smirks. "Yeah, he's got one other one."

"Ooooo, can I see it?" Prim asks, rising to her tip toes with eyes shining in excitement. My ever lovable sister, infatuated with anything new or different.

To my surprise, Peeta blushes. "It was a stupid bet when we'd started the band," he says and I think he's making a point to not look at me.

Gale snorts when Peeta says this. "It's his tongue," he spits out, the smirk on his face now a full grin as he enjoys himself at his friend's expense.

Oh. My. God.

He has a tongue ring.

There is a strong possibility that I'm going to just cum on the spot, here in front of everyone, at the thought of it. God, what would that feel like to kiss, to feel it brush my tongue in a hot kiss? To feel it on my body, on _me_...

Fuck.

I'm praying that no one will see the flush that's come over my body or the rapid rising and falling of my chest as I attempt to get my breathing under control. But luckily, Prim has distracted everyone with her endless curiosity.

"No way," she says, eyes wide. "Can I see it?"

I don't know who's blushed more tonight, Peeta or myself. He bites his bottom lip in hesitation, then gives his head a small shake and sticks his tongue out.

Dear god. There it is, a silver ball of delicious sexual fantasies peaking out through the slick flesh of his tongue.

I'm going to combust. I am.

Especially when Peeta looks over at me. At first his face is confused, as if he can't decipher the emotions going across my face. But then something clicks and he understands the flush on my face, my strange posture as I press my legs together in an effort to control the throbbing. He raises his pierced eyebrow at me and gives me a sexy little half-smile that makes me what to die.

Dear god. I _want_ this man.

"Cool!" Prim says, clapping her hands in delight like a small child. She turns to me, her face imploring. "I want one."

Her statement slowly penetrates the sexual haze I've been trapped in. When I process what she's said I'm horrified. I shake my head slightly in surprise, my eyes widening.

"No. Way," I manage to spit out. "There's no way in hell you're getting anything pierced."

Prim crosses her arms, her bottom lip coming out in a pout. She's staring me down now, eyes flashing with resentment.

"You can't tell me what I can and can't do," she snarls softly. It's like watching a kitten try to growl. Tiny, pathetic and not particularly scary. "I'm not a child anymore and you don't need to take care of me."

I'm shocked by this. "Prim," I say softly. "I don't think you're-"

"Hey!" says Gale, jumping in to swing an arm around Prim's shoulder. He's doing his best to cut the tension when he says, "Just wait, Primy. After a whole tour on the road with us maybe even _she'll_ leave with something new on her skin."

This statement makes me freeze. I turn to face Gale, who's smile is falling at the look on my face. He looks at Madge with a worried look on his face, eyes wide in fear.

"You did tell her...right?" he asks Madge in a low, concerned voice.

"No..." she says, looking back and forth between the two of us, confused. "I thought it'd be fun to tell her together, to surprise her."

If Gale was worried then, he looks down-right scared as shit now.

"Madge...Katniss hates surprises. I mean, she's had her period marked out on the calendar for every month for the last 3 years."

"Hey!" I shout at him, waving my arms to get his attention. "Is that really supposed to be common knowledge?" I ask, glancing nervously back and forth between Finnick and Peeta, who are both smirking at me now.

"Katniss doesn't hate surprises, do you?" Madge asks me, eyes wide with bewilderment. "You love them. Like the time we made you a surprise breakfast the morning of _your_ 21st birthday, or the time I brought home that kitten, Buttercup."

I'm about to open my mouth to reassure my delicate friend, falsely, that I _do_ love surprises and that Gale has no idea what he's talking about when Johanna jumps in with a scathing laugh.

"Oh my god, Madge. She hated all that. We interrupted her early-morning birthday sex that morning with the cute football guy from down the hall. And she hated that kitten, that's why she gave it to Prim." Johanna says all this with mirth. I know she's not being intentionally cruel, but I can see how her words sting Madge.

"You said...you said you have allergies," Madge says, her voice wobbling with hurt. "And you loved those pancakes...at least you said you did."

"No, Madge," I say, stepping forward to take her hands in mine. "Johanna's a bitch." I throw Johanna a dirty look. She rolls her eyes with a smile, then blows me a kiss with her middle finger. "I loved those pancakes...and so did Kyle, once you left. And I _am_ allergic to Buttercup. At least, I get sick when I'm around him-" _sick with hate _"-so tell me the surprise. I really want to know."

I gaze at her imploringly, horrified when I see her eyes had begun to water. Really, Madge is usually level-headed, so I'm surprised at this reaction. But I'm relieved to see her eyes dry up as her excitement returns.

"We're going with them on tour!" she belts out, shaking our joined hands with glee. "Gale arranged everything. He booked us an extra room with them at all the tour stops, and they were able to get a _big_ bus for us to ride on with them. We get to spend the next three months with them!"

I blink repeatedly at her, not moving. Somehow, the words aren't really registering. Slowly, the idea begins to sink in. We'll be gone for three months. Three whole months.

What the fuck?

"No, Madge," I scowl, ripping my hands from hers. I ignore the hurt look on her face when I say, "I can't _afford_ to take three months off work. It's _summer_. I refill my savings during the summer with tourist tips, you _know_ that Madge. Even if I get out of rent and expenses, I won't make it through the rest of the year without that money."

"Hey," Gale butts in, wrapping an arm around me. "No problem. It's actually worked out perfect, Katniss. Mom and Posy just sold the house now that Vick's ready to move out, but the apartment isn't ready until August, so they're subleasing your until you get back."

"Great, Gale," I say, throwing his arm off me in anger. "That doesn't change the fact that when we get back I'll be broke."

Gale shrugs. "I'm going to cover you. And Prim."

I roll my eyes and cross my arms at him, my anger rising.

"No, you're not," I snarl.

Gale reaches out and takes my shoulders in his hands, shaking me slightly in frustration.

"Catnip, you're my best friend. I haven't seen you in years and I've missed you. You got me through the roughest shit in the world when Dad died, you held me together. You talked me into leaving you behind to go to school. Now, I want us all to be together again, even if it is only for a little while." His eyes are imploring when he says, "Please come. It's also kind of a birthday gift for Prim, too. You wouldn't let down that face, would you?"

I look over to see Prim beaming at me, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she awaits my answer anxiously. And I realize, as I watch this, how little excitement Prim has had in her life. Like me, she's spent her time in college working to support herself. We've both missed out on so much of the college experience. And this trip would probably be like one big, long college party. It would make up for so much that she's missed.

I hear Finnick laugh over behind and beside me, his cackle melodious even in its impudence, as he says, "Well isn't that just the most adorable proclamation I've ever heard out of your lips, Gale Hawthorne." He walks up to me and clasps his hands in front of him like Prim, giving me a pouting look at says, "Will you come, Katniss? Please?"

I risk a glance over at Peeta, who's been silent for so long. I'm surprised to find him looking at me intently...imploringly. He's got a half-smile on his face and his ridiculous blue eyes are sparkling with merriment...and a question.

_Will you come?_

The thought makes me shiver in the double meaning my over-heated body gives it.

I turn to Gale and say, "Fine. But I'm paying you back next summer. Every dime." I glance at Finnick's impish smile and roll my eyes. "And I want to sleep as far away from him," I jab my thumb in Finnick's direction, "as possible."

Gale laughs and throws his arm around my shoulder as the girls shriek with delight, Madge and Prim going so far as to actually clasp arms and give a little hop. Johanna's laughing too, but her laugh is brought down to a sexy tone by the stare she's giving Finnick, which he returns with a wink. I glance toward Peeta again and see he's smiling widely with everyone else, apparently pleased by my answer. I blush at this, but return his smile with a raise of an eyebrow that I hope says,

_'Why do you care?'_

Peeta raises an eyebrow back at me, but instead of giving me an easy answer he merely shakes his head slightly while apparently fighting back amusement.

I'm annoyed by this, and I'm about to give him a look that expresses this when Gale says, "Good, I'm glad. Because your bags are already packed, and that would have been awkward to try to explain later..."

I'm shocked by this. I turn to Madge, who's making a point of not making eye contact with me.

"Madge," I ask sternly. "How did you manage to pack up my bags when we've only been out of the flat for 3 hours...and you've been with me the whole time?"

Madge gives me a guilty look and is about to respond when Gale jumps in again and says, "Not Madge, Catnip. Cinna, our stylist. Madge gave him a key and he packed everything for you guys. I even gave him some money to pick you up a few things for on the road. Everything from toiletries to concert-appropriate attire, just to be sure."

I'm appalled. Not only by the fact that Gale has spent what I'm sure is another exorbitant amount of money in addition to what he's already giving me, but that a complete _stranger_ has been in my home, touched my things...packed my _underwear._ I'm furiously trying to remember when the last time I'd done laundry was and how far back in the drawer I'd shoved the emergency granny-panties the last time I'd put them in the underwear drawer. My math is not coming out to a number I'm comfortable with. I'd put off chores in favor of spending Prim's birthday with her, and I'm sorely regretting it now.

"Ah, calm down, Kitty," Gale says, using his most irritating nickname for me. "Cinna's professional _and_ a genius. You'll love him."

I'm at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the direction tonight has taken, so I do the only thing I can do to get my point across to Gale...I give him the bird.

I hear Finnick go into hysterics at my tactics and he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me up against his firm chest. I see Johanna go visibly still at the gesture and I roll my eyes at her to make sure she knows just how annoyed I am by this...even though his is warm and smells of sea-salt and man...

Damn.

Then Finnick says, "I like this one, Gale. We ought to kick you out for holding out on us like this. Probably would, if you weren't so damn good."

Gale rolls his eyes and gives Finnick a friendly shove. I brace myself to stumble at the impact, but Finnick doesn't move and he holds me tight against him to keep me steady.

"You forget who started this band," Gale says lowly. It's not unfriendly, but it's firm.

Finnick just stakes his head and laughs again. I get the impression this guy is the clown of the group, which is a feat with Rory in the group, who is usually the star clown of any group. "Yeah, yeah, Hawthorne. I know. You came up with the idea and Peeta named the band. I'm just some jerk you found in a fight club and Rory's the tag-along kid-brother."

"Hey," says Rory, speaking for the first time since the whole exchange began. "Speak for yourself. I've got skills, dude." He says this while puffing out his chest, which makes Prim giggle. "Having a brother in the band just jump-started things."

"Hey, Finnick," says Peeta softly, a smirk on his face. "Don't downplay yourself. You're an important asset. What's a band without their sex-symbol, ass-hole singer?"

Finnick surprises me by smiling widely. "Sex-symbol, huh?" He looks down at me, eyes shining, and asks, "Is that right, Kitty? Am I a sex-symbol?"

I grunt and shove him away from me, annoyed that he's picked up on the hated nickname. "You're forgetting the ass-hole bit," I spit out. But I can't help smiling at him because, really, this guy is hard to hate. You can tell that under the conceited exterior, he's a good guy.

"And she doesn't disagree," Finnick says, turning to throw a wink at Johanna, who's still fuming over our semi-embrace. "I'll take it."

Johanna rolls her eyes and looks away, but I can see the ghost of a smile on her face as she does. For a moment, the wink temporarily mollifying her. But I worry over this new obsession of her in conjunction with our joining them on the tour. Johanna has a tendency to chew guys up and spit them out with a heartless ease, but once in a while she'll let herself fall for a guy who has no right to have a place in her heart. Those are the guys that usually crush her the most, and it takes us days to pull her out of the sex-and-alcohol binge that always follows. I just hope that Johanna has the ability to see a potential for disaster this time.

Madge gives me a look and I know we've been thinking the same thing.

_Yeah, right._

Prim breaks us from our trance when, rocking back and forth excitedly on her heels, she asks, "When are we leaving?"

Gale gives me a hesitant look before responding, "Tonight. The bags are already on board. Madge's dad hooked us up with a sweet bus, complete with a full bathroom so you guys can clean up. We have to head out by two sharp. We've got a six-hour drive ahead of us, and we have to be at the next stage by 9am for a sound-check before we can check in to the hotel."

I'm surprised by this. "Tonight? Really?"

Prim come up and takes my hands, encompassing them in her own and bringing them to her chest. I can feel hear heartbeat under my hands, racing with joy. She's beaming at me with a look as if I'm the best person in the whole world to her, her everything. And I can feel my heart jump in response, an echo to hers. My sister, my heart. My everything.

This will be worth it, to see her so genuinely happy for such a prolonged period of time. To give her this one, big adventure before she has to go back to school, finish her last year of college and then settle down in the real world. She'll be ruined by the monotony of it all, her youthful poise gone in the eight-to-five rush. I hope that by giving her this, by letting her soak up the gifts of youth one last time, I can give her a spark that will keep her young and vibrant as she goes through the rest of her life.

"This is going to be amazing, Katniss," she sighs, clutching my hands tighter. "I know this is hard for you, jumping on board with something so crazy. But you're the best sister in the world for this, you know?"

I nod, unable to speak, and I bring her into a hug. Over her shoulder, I can see Gale and Madge smiling at us, happy to have us all together again. Johanna is staring at Finnick with a predatory look that he's slyly returning, and I hope that she's finally met her match in him. And in the corner I see Rory and Peeta standing together, staring at Prim and I with matching looks that I can't place.

I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of sweet roses that is Prim, my sister, whom I love with all my heart.

And I know she's right. No matter what happens, this trip will be amazing.

* * *

x.x.x.

* * *

Hey guys! So my plan is to update this every Friday. I'm planning for this to be roughly 15 chapters long, but I'm not quite done with it yet so that's still up in the air.

I think I messed up when I originally posted this, the way FF did the characters had it showing up that this was a Katniss/Gale story. To clarify, it's _not_. This is totally Everlark. But I'm not really a fan of making Gale out to be a huge douche, because I really didn't see him that way in the books. I mean, he made some pretty shitty decisions, but I can't judge him too much for it. He's a good friend to Katniss in the books and was driven to do awful things because of what the Capital had pushed them to. I'm not ever going to be an Everthorne, but I'm not a Gale-hater either.

On a different note, anyone interested in betaing? I can give you a few of the chapters that I have and you can check them over and give me input. I'd really like a second opinion on things before we get too far in.

Also, my apologies to everyone who's also reading "Kindled Ember". This week turned out to be really crazy and, for whatever reason, this one was the one that spoke to me this week. I spent all week editing this one instead of KE...oops! I play to have it up by tomorrow night :)

Kisses and love!


	3. Chapter 3

Seize Me

Chapter 3

_"You tell all the boys 'no'_

_Makes you feel good, yeah._

_I know you're out of my league_

_But that won't scare me away, oh, no."_

_Labrinth-Beneath Your Beautiful_

"God damn it, Johanna! We're going to _sleep_ as soon as we get on the bus. What could you possibly be doing in there?"

Madge is furiously banging on the door to the dressing room bathroom. The stylist Cinna, a handsome man with smooth chocolate skin and gold-flecked eyes, had brought us the overnight bags he'd packed for each of us for tonight. In them are travel toiletry essentials like body wipes, deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste, makeup remover, a brush, and a few ponytail holders along with a set of pajamas. Johanna had been respectful enough to let birthday-girl Prim use the bathroom first to get cleaned up. But as soon as Prim had emerged, Johanna had launched herself into the bathroom for her turn.

That had been almost an hour ago.

"Just chill _out_," Johanna screamed back. "I'm almost done, you bitch. This shit doesn't just _happen_."

Madge groans. "You're taking your face _off_, not putting it on. How much time do you need to wipe off the smell of ash and beer, clean your face and change your clothes?"

The door opens suddenly to reveal Johanna, whose tall frame fills a surprising portion of the doorway for someone who looks like a supermodel. She's got her hair wound up in a bun on the top of her head now, in a fashion so tight it makes my own scalp ache. Her club mask is gone, but I'm near exasperation when I see she's applied a fresh coat of makeup. This time it seems she's going for sweet and natural, but I can see the thin line of eyeliner and the mascara coating her lashes. This bitch has been in there prettying herself up for _bedtime_ just so she can impress a guy who will see her for a whole five minutes before we go to bed. I'm even more annoyed when I see what she's wearing.

"Oh my god," Madge groans. "There is no way that's what Cinna packed for you."

Johanna is wearing nothing more than a long, oversized t-shirt and slippers.

She smirks at our horrified expressions. "No, there were pants. But I get hot."

I cross my arms at her and roll my eyes in annoyance, "Can you at least wear them until we get on the bus?"

"No," Johanna says, walking past us coolly. "You're lucky I'm even wearing underwear."

Madge chokes in horror, but neither one of us can get something out in response before Johanna is out the door, heading in search of Prim and the guys.

Madge goes in next and I'm hoping that she'll be quick since we're running out of time and I still need to clean up myself. But despite alll the crap she gave Johanna, Madge has been in there a solid 30 minutes when I finally bang on the door.

"Everything okay in there?" I ask suspiciously.

"Oh," comes Madge's squeaking voice. "Yes, uhm...I just need a few more minutes."

And then, over the sound of running water, I hear the sound of something thick coming from a pressurized can...shaving cream? And then I put all together.

"Madge," I groan, pressing my forehead up against the door. "Really? Didn't you shave earlier tonight?"

"I missed a few spots!" Madge calls back indignantly. "Besides, I didn't know we'd for sure be leaving with them tonight."

I'm suddenly horrified. "Madge," I croak out, "please tell me you're not going to have sex on the bus with Gale. Not with all of us on it..."

"No!" Madge sounds as equally horrified as I am. "That's gross, Katniss!"

"Well," I sigh, "then _why_ are you shaving again?"

Madge is silent for a moment, then calls back in a shrill voice full of panic, "I just need a few more minutes!"

I growl in frustration and turn around to press my shoulders against the door and throw my head back in irritation. When did my friends turn into such floozies?

And then I see Peeta, standing in the doorway to the hallway, staring at me. I'm like a deer caught in the headlights, going utterly still as soon as I see he's there. He's wearing that delicious leather jacket again and his blond curls are messy, like he's been running his hands through them anxiously since we last saw him. This suspicion is confirmed for me when he raises one hand and slides it through his hair while the other hand is partially slipped through a belt loop at his hips. And as I watch him do this I imagine girls all over swooning. The idea immediately annoys me for reasons I can't pinpoint. All I know is that his sudden appearance has me flustered and the only response I can muster is to glare at him.

"Are you..." he asks hesitantly, "Are you going to get cleaned up or are you going like that?"

I look down at my appearance, flustered at what I see. I've got my red leather jacket slung over my arm with my overnight bag. My stilettos, which I got tired of holding, are attached by the straps to one of my belt loops which leaves my feet bare and clumsy looking in comparison to my skinny jeans. My shirt is askew and stretched out from tugging at it anxiously all night, and I can see out of the corner of my eye that my braid is coming apart. I'm a mess, and he can see it.

"No," I sigh, closing my eyes in mortification and irritation. Because my friends can't manage their time I now have to stand in front of the guy that makes _my_ insides tingle looking like a hot mess while the two of them are glossed and shaved to perfection.

If there is ever a time I'm going to hate my friends, it is going to be now.

"Then..." Peeta draws out, leaving the doorway and walking up to me. "...what are you waiting for? We leave in, like, 30 minutes."

I huff in response and push off the door to stand upright and cross my arms. "Because my friends are ridiculous. Madge spent an hour banging on the door to hurry Johanna up and now _she's_ been in there for another 30. Prim took a whole whopping 10 minutes, I don't get it."

Peeta shakes his head and laughs merrily. "Ok," he says, holding up his palms to me defensively. "I understand. If you want, there's a decent bathroom in the bus. I show you where it is, if you want, and that way you'll be ok if we have to go."

I'm simultaneously thrilled and anxious at getting to spend some time—even if it's only a few minutes—with him.

"Sure," I say, casting one last dark look at the bathroom door. "It's not like I'll get to use _this_ one anytime soon, anyway."

Peeta gives a soft laugh and turns away from me to walk back to the hallway. "Alright, Kitty," he says. "Follow me, I'll show you to the bus."

I growl softly in protest as I do a quick jog to reach him. "I hate that name, you know," I say derisively. "Gale only calls me that when he wants to piss me off."

Peeta gives me a broad grin over his shoulder and says, "I know."

* * *

Ok. So this tour bus is not what I was expecting at all.

From the outside, it looks pretty normal. It's just a plain old black bus, no fancy band decals on the side or anything to suggest modern rock royalty are traveling inside. Peeta says it's partially for their protection when they pull into a new town, but also because they've only got it on loan for this tour. If this tour pans out like they think it will, they'll probably end up buying it. But for now, they're renting it and trying it out.

I honestly can't see why they _would_ buy it. For a tour bus, it looks pretty drab. Not that I'm a tour bus buff or anything, but I just can't see how this thing is supposed to comfortably transport eight of us across the country for almost an entire summer.

Peeta shows me the hatch on the side of the bus that all of our bags have been stored in. He says the driver can always pull over to let us get something out, but for time's sake I'd better get out anything I want before we get on the bus.

"I don't even know what's _in_ my bag," I mutter. "_I_ didn't pack it."

Peeta shrugs. "Cinna's a mind reader. I'm sure everything you need or want is in your bag."

I give Peeta a skeptical look but start scanning through the bags in the compartment. I don't see my ratty duffle bag anywhere in there. Did they even pack anything for me or did they just assume I'd go bitch on them and refuse to come? Forgetting that I _had_ originally refused to come, I'm pretty annoyed at the absence of my bag. I'm about to give up when I see a pristine set of red luggage with tags on them that say my name. I count four. There are four large luggage pieces with my name on them. I turn to Peeta, horrified.

"What the hell did Gale do?"

Peeta shakes his head, a small smile on his face. "I don't know if Gale had anything to do with this specifically. I know he gave Cinna a budget and told him to get you and Prim tour-ready. I'm pretty sure this is Cinna's doing. Why don't you pull that one out and check it? I'm sure the rest are clothes."

He's pointing to the smaller, almost duffle-bag-like one in front. I pull it toward me and marvel at the crisp canvas material under my fingers. It's brand new all right, fresh out the upscale department store I'm sure Gale sent Cinna to. I grab the black zipper and gently pull it to the side, biting my lip as the new zipper rumbles under my fingers. I hesitate for the moment, wondering what this Cinna character has packed for me. I tentatively pull the bag apart to gaze inside and I'm surprised by what I find.

It's a collection of random things from my apartment. My phone's car and wall chargers, lotion and my face mask for sleeping. My current book choice—a dog-eared selection of Richard Connell stories—is also in there along with most of my other most worn books and a small clip-on reading light for nighttime. I'm impressed with Cinna's selections. He'd obviously picked the books that looked the most used, knowing they must be my favorites. And I'm more relieved than I thought I'd be by their presence. I also see he's packed my laptop and several movies along with a set of earbuds and a neck pillow.

I pull out the car phone charger, the Richard Connell book and the small reading light, feeling much more at peace now that I've got these few familiar possessions with me. Then I zip the bag back shut and put it gingerly back in the luggage compartment. I don't need much tonight since it sounds like we'll be in the next town by the time we wake up, so I'll dig out the rest tomorrow. I turn to Peeta and see he's looking at me quizzically and staring at the book in my hands.

"Richard Connell?" he asks. I nod, raising my eyebrows at him and crossing my arms. I'm immediately on the defensive, not sure what to make of his sudden interest in my literature choices.

He steps closer and comes to stand behind my right shoulder, eyeing my book curiously as he does. I'm suddenly aware of how close he is, so close I can feel his breath on my neck as he looks down at the book. I go rigid immediately, not sure how to process the way the heat radiating off his body travels down my neck to my spine and settling in a wave of tingles straight down to my core. I'm waiting to see if he's going to touch me and I'm surprised to realize I want him to. I wonder how his fingers will feel. Gale's fingertips are rough from his bass...will Peeta's be too? He holds a hand out to me and I'm confused for a minute, not sure what he wants. And then I realize, frustrated, that he wants to see the book.

I sigh and uncross my arms to place the book in his waiting hand while giving him a firm look that leaves no question as to how I'll take criticism of my taste. He examines the book closely, taking in the bent and frayed edges of the cover and where my mom had scrawled my name over the page edges at the top of the book when I'd gotten been assigned the book in high school literature. He runs his fingers along the paperback binding, creased from frequent opening and closing and page marking, and a small smile flits across his face.

"Your favorite book?" he asks.

"For the moment," I respond with a shrug. "He's dark and twisted. He speaks to me sometimes, like his words are soothing. I feel better after I read one of his stories."

"You're an outdoor adventurist?" Peeta asks. I think I detect a hint of teasing in his tone and I immediately bristle at it.

"Is that a problem?" I ask. Peeta doesn't say anything. He just looks me straight in the eyes, his blue a sea of questions he doesn't voice, and I'm irritated further. "My dad took me hunting before he died." I say this in a blunt, fierce tone that I expect to shock him; I _hope_ will shock him—get him to stop asking questions. I expect him to be caught off-guard, but if he is, it doesn't show on his face, which annoys me even more. "The outdoors is kind of my thing now," I conclude sullenly, looking away from him to gaze up at the sky. Back home you could clearly see every star in the sky. But here in the city with all the light pollution we're lucky to see the moon.

I wait for Peeta to question me about my dad in that annoyingly calm voice of his, but instead I hear him thumb through the small book, examining each page briefly before moving on to the next. I drop my gaze back to his face to watch his intent, puzzled expression as he flips through the book. I appreciate the brief moment to examine him while he looks over my book. He really is handsome in a very average way. Soft, pampered skin. Very 'American' blond hair and blue eyes. He gives a quick smile, and I notice for the first time how white and straight his teeth are. Not what I typically go for.

Actually, I tend to lean toward guys closer to my own appearance. Olive skin, brown hair and grey eyes. You could find this type easily back in Gale's and my part of our hometown. He and I had grown up in a town of Panem county called, cleverly, District 12. Panem has 13 towns-slash-districts that, instead of being named, are numbered 1-13. At the center of the districts is The Capital. It houses the most wealthy of Panem County and is the home of Panem Central College, which is where all of us went to college—except Gale, who left Panem altogether to go to New York to study music. On the opposite side of the spectrum, District 12 is known as to hold the least wealthy of Panem, made up mostly of coal miners. And as if living in an already poor district wasn't enough, Gale and I lived in a section of Twelve referred to loathsomely by Twelve's town folk as "The Seam," an impoverish, grimy section of Twelve. There everyone looks like Gale and me? with matching olive skin, grey eyes and dirty brown hair. In drastic comparison, all of the wealthier people of Twelve who lived in town usually had blonde hair, fair skin and blue eyes.

Seam 'brats,' as we're often called by the more uncouth people in town, have always been the people I'd shared a kinship with. As such, I'd always envisioned myself ending up with one of them. At one point I had thought it would be Gale. But, to my surprise, Madge's pretty blonde hair and stunning blue eyes had caught his attention. Gale, with his distaste for stuck up families in the town, had been the last person I'd imagined associating with people outside of the Seam. And Gale taking help from one of them to become a privileged man himself would have annoyed the hell out of me if it hadn't been sweet, loving Madge and her equally kind father to provide the help. And I'd really had no room to criticize when I'd grudgingly allowed Madge's father to pay the deposit and utilities on our apartment all through college.

I'm made aware again that had it not been for him being in Gale's band I probably never would have noticed Peeta, whose blond hair and blue eyes scream of 'town privilege' in a way that makes my blood boil. But no, not even him being in Gale's band would have gotten my attention. It was the way Peeta had conducted himself on the stage that had pulled my eyes to him. He'd been sure of himself, comfortable in his own skin. That was something you didn't see in people from the city. They always seemed to be looking for some sign of approval, searching for something to show them that they belong. I'd only ever seen confidence like his in someone from the Seam, earned through a life of hard work and struggling. And maybe that was what had really attracted me to him. That and the way those ocean-blue eyes sucked me in and drew slow, burning magmas of passion through my veins.

Peeta brings me out of my musings with a small 'huh.' I'm surprised to see he's stopped at my favorite story in the Richard Connell selection, the one short story I've read hundreds of times. The pages are more wrinkled here and you can see the odd stain here or there from food and drink that had been on my hands when I'd been reading. He runs his fingers over the title and asks, "The Most Dangerous Game?" He's referring to the title of the story he had just stopped at. He sounds surprised, as if this isn't what he'd expected.

I shrug. "Yeah. I don't know what it is about it, but there's something to be said about Rainsford. He's clearly the underdog, but he still wins. He's outmatched and facing almost certain death, but he manages to outsmart the General with traps and planning. It's so twisted, but it's my favorite Connell story."

Peeta chuckles and hands the book back to me. Our fingers brush for a second and I feel a small shiver shoot up my arm to my back, where it trails to my abdomen and curls into a delicious pool of attraction. It might have been enough for me to make some witty, flirty remark if I hadn't been so offended by the chuckle.

"What's so funny?" I snap, sticking my new possessions into my overnight bag.

Peeta shakes his head, still smiling. "Nothing," he says. He closes the hatch to the bus and I hear it click as it snaps closed. Then he turns away and leads me to the bus doors, turning to say, "It's just...it's my favorite too."

I'm so caught off-guard that I almost come to a stop at his words. The sudden, involuntary stop is not what the rest of my body was planning for. I fall forward and throw my hands out to brace myself on the closest thing to can stop myself on—Peeta's shoulders.

I get a sensation of steel under plush softness beneath my fingers for the half-second my hands clutch Peeta's shoulders. But then he's turned in front of me and catches my waist in his hands, helping me to right myself. His hands are warm at my hips, the heat moving slowly through my body from the point his hands meet my body. I can feel when the heat hits my face, manifesting itself in a betraying blush.

"Careful," Peeta says softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. He's got a small blush at his cheeks too, and I hope it's in a good sort of embarrassed way and not a 'oh my god, I hope she doesn't read too much into this' kind of way. "We still have to get in the bus, you know."

I scowl and push him away from me, muttering an apology. I sling my bag over my shoulder and turn my head away from him with the pretense of making sure my bag is zipped. I pray my braid is hiding my face as I feel a fresh wave of blush rise on my face.

"Just get me inside so I can get the bar smell off of me," I mutter. "It's making me gag."

Peeta's got a small smile on his face now, but he wisely doesn't say anything. Instead he turns and leads me to the stairs to the bus. I allow myself a brief moment to appreciate the way his ass looks in his jeans as he climbs the bus stairs then I follow after him.

I follow him up the stairs, watching my feet to make sure I don't do something embarrassing like trip again and this time knock him over. As much as I want this boy under me in so many different ways, having him in pain after I've knocked him over and fallen on top of him is not one of them. And after the mortification I've suffered tonight, I doubt I'm ever going to get him in the way my body _is_ screaming for.

It takes me a minute to realize that he's stopped walking and is staring at me expectantly. I look up at him and meet questioning blue eyes. I'm about to ask what he's waiting for when he nods his head in the direction of the main area of the bus, which I've yet to look at. I turn my head and am slightly dazzled by what I see.

The room we're standing in seems to double as a lounging and dining area. The couches that line one side of the bus are a pristine white and look like they'd engulf you completely if you sat down on one of them. Past the two couches is a long marble countertop with a sink, microwave and fancy coffee-maker. There's a small fridge on the other side of it and even a dishwasher under the counter top. Across from the countertop I spot two door panels. One is a solid wood and I suspect it's the pantry. The other door is glass and behind it is an expansive liquor selection and crystal glasses of different shapes.

_This_ is what I'd envisioned a rock star bus to be.

"The beds are through here," Peeta says, stepping in front of me and leading me down the bus. I follow after him, trying not to look like a gawking fool as I take in the elegant decor, including the crystal light fixture that runs the entire length of this section of the bus.

"Pretty ridiculous, huh?" he asks with a wide smile. "Mr. Undersee got it for us, it sleeps eight. It's meant to house an entire team, but we're using it to help transport you guys."

"Sorry to be a burden," I mutter, trailing my finger over the cold marble counters.

"Don't be," Peeta says. "We never get to travel in anything this swanky. Having you guys along was the perfect excuse for an upgraded ride."

Past the small kitchen is a plain, unadorned hallway with two large wood panels running horizontally on each side of the hallway. Beside each panel is a small electronic pad with four small buttons with up and down arrows on them and a small numeric pad beneath them. Peeta hits one of the buttons on a pad and the panel beside it rises up to reveal a bed. It appears to be a little smaller than a twin mattress and is tucked back into the wall. I'm surprised to see the bed already has my pillow on it along with the old blanket my mom knitted for me when I moved out for the college dorms. Peeta reaches inside the bed alcove and turns a knob above the pillow. As he does, a light above the bed turns on and becomes brighter the more he twists it.

"This is your bed," Peeta says with a small smile. "You can leave your stuff here. I can show you later how to program a lock on it so you're the only one who can open the panel. I'll show you where the bathroom is."

I quickly deposit my bag on the bed and pull out the things I won't need, keeping only my toiletries and pajamas still in the bag. Peeta waits patiently for me to finish, then pushes the 'down' button on the left side of the panel pad to close off my little cave. He turns to continue down the hallway of the bus, stopping to show me how to close the doors on either side of the bed area for privacy, then leads me to another small section of the bus. This section has a line of marble counters on one side with two dips in the counter to leave room for two large, comfy chairs. There are mirrors in front of the chairs and I imagine this must be a makeshift dressing area. I know Prim and Johanna will gush over this area for sure, and the idea brings a small smile to my face.

Opposite the small dressing area is a door, which Peeta tells me is the bathroom.

"Go ahead and do your thing," Peeta says as I open the door. "I'll go find everyone else and let them know we're ready to go."

"Thanks," I say softly, stepping into the surprisingly spacious bathroom. "I'll be quick."

Peeta gives me a wide, reassuring smile. My rebellious stomach does a little flop. "No problem," he says. And then he's gone.

I shut the bathroom door and lean against it. I close my eyes and thump my head back against the door in frustration. This whole thing is a very bad idea. The tour, missing work, being around Peeta. It's all a massive mistake that I know is going to end badly. And not just because I know that Johanna is going to do something stupid and fuck things up with Finnick, but because I think _I'm_ going to do something stupid to fuck things up with _Peeta_ and ruin this all for Prim. Which would only make things worse, because my sister is the only reason I'm doing this—to make her happy.

I groan and bring my hands up to run my fingers over my forehead and down either side of my face in resignation. I'm just going to have to remember that this is for Prim, not for the other girls and me to try to suck face with rock stars. I'm hopeful that I can remember myself, that I can focus on making this the best trip possible for Prim. I'm just still doubtful that Johanna is capable of not causing drama. If I thought saying anything would help, I would. But it would only make her pissy and more attracted to Finnick for the fact she's not supposed to have him.

I sigh and open my eyes, taking in the bathroom. It's white to match the rest of the bus's furniture, the countertop a cream marble with gold flecks speckled throughout. There's a large sink in the countertop and the mirror expands all the way across the five-foot counter. Next to the counter is a small toilet, which I vow to use only for emergencies, with a tasteful wreath and candle sitting on the tank lid. Across from the sink and toilet is a small shower, only about four or five feet wide either direction. A small sign is in the upper corner of the shower, requesting minimal use of three to five minute showers in emergencies only unless hooked up to a system.

I set my overnight bag on the counter and dump all of its contents into the sink then place the empty bag on the closed toilet. I strip down to my underwear and bra and fold my clothes up and set them in the bottom of my bag. I then work methodically through each product, starting by wiping down with the cleansing wipes a few times. After some lotion and deodorant, I'm already feeling a hundred times better. I find a small silver case in the pile of toiletries and open it to find a small assembly of tampons and panty liners inside. Amidst the assortment I see a small note on bright gold paper. It says "_I saw your calendar-thought you'd need these"_. I groan and stuff the note hastily back in the silver bag, cursing myself as I throw the little silver pouch back in my overnight bag. Leave it to Gale to employ a guy who not only pays attention to my period calendar but has the observational skills to recognize the brand of tampons under my sink back home and know I'll need more by the end of the tour, then supply them dutifully.

Fantastic.

I undo my ragged braid and brush out the tangles until my hair is loose and free. I shoot in a couple sprays of waterless shampoo to combat the oil and bar smells then brush through it a few more times. I put each product back in my overnight bag until all that's left is my make-up and toothbrush and toothpaste. I set the make-up bag off to the side and brush my teeth, feeling more and more human the longer I brush them.

Words cannot express how much better I feel after the quick ten-minute wipe down. The cleansing wipes did a decent job of getting off the sticky feeling a night in a club can bring. The make-up bag has remover that works perfectly and the accompanying facial lotion is soothing, especially under my eyes where my skin is puffy from the late night this has turned into. I comb out my hair one more time, letting my hair hang long for Prim to braid later. When I reach for the pajamas Cinna has packed, I realize they're my favorite set of pajamas, consisting of my oversized, long-sleeved Panem Central College shirt and a set of gold and black flannel bottoms to match. I'm relieved to see there's a simple white sports bra packed so I can keep my modesty around the boys without having to wear my uncomfortable underwire push-up to bed. I slide into the clothes, a sense of reprieve washing over me as the familiar fabric glides over my skin. I'm much more at ease like this, in clothing that sufficiently covers my skin and a fresh face without make-up. More like myself.

But then I realize that Peeta might be outside the door, waiting for me to finish getting cleaned up. I take a second look, frowning a little at what I see. Now that the make-up is gone my face is blotchy and uneven. My eyes are puffy with exhaustion and my lips are small and pale. The only thing I think I have going for me at the moment is my hair, which is wavy and full of body from the braid. And even that's not going to last for more than twenty minutes.

And so I dig around in the overnight bag to find the small black clutch I'd stashed away after cleaning off the make-up. I won't do much, I tell myself, only just enough so I don't look like the walking dead. I only pull out two things: the concealer and mascara. I mix a little concealer with my facial lotion and rub it in my face. It's just enough to even out my skin a little and make the bags under my eyes less noticeable without actually covering up my skin. The mascara is light, just a slight brushing against my eyelashes. But it makes my eyes stand out a little more and I look more alert than I did before. It's all minor, but it makes me feel a little better about facing Peeta.

And then the reality of what I've just done hits me. I'm no better than Johanna and Madge, primping myself up for a boy when all we're going to do is say 'hi-bye' then go to sleep. Disgusted, I pull out the make-up remover wipes again and rub off everything I've just done. I will _not_ be one of those girls. In fact, I don't even want Peeta's attention. Sure, it would have been nice to have him in bed for a night, but that was when it would have only been a one-night thing. Now that I'll see him almost every day for three months, I'm not the least bit interested. It invites far too much drama for what I'm capable of handling and I really just want to focus on having a good time with the girls and reuniting with Gale. No sex. No boys. No feelings. Just relaxing and reconnecting.

I let out a quick huff and throw everything back into the overnight bag hastily, not bothering to fold anything. I zip the bag shut and throw it over my shoulder before turning to face the bathroom door. I can hear other voices outside the door now. Madge and Prim are talking quickly with a voice I think belongs to Gale. I can also hear Johanna's throaty laugh and the deep baritone of Finnick's answering chuckle. I even think I hear Peeta chime in a time or two.

I reach for the handle, but I stop halfway to the knob. For whatever reason, I'm nervous about going out there and facing the jolly group. It's not that I'm unhappy to be here with them, because I am. I just feel like I'm not as happy as I should be. It takes me a moment, but I'm able to pinpoint my fears. Everyone is so carefree, caught up in the thrill of doing something crazy and spur of the moment. But I'm tramatized by it. Ever since our dad died, I've had to take over caring for Prim and my mom. Mom's spirit had been crushed by our sudden loss of Dad, all the will to care for herself or her children vanishing. Mom had eventually come out of it, but not soon enough to save my childhood.

But Prim's _had_ been saved, to a point. She may have had to take a job after school to help with money, but I'd made sure she wasn't desperate enough for cash that she'd had to miss out on football games or dances. Even in college I'd made sure she could afford every book she'd needed and could get in the best dorm I could manage to scrape together the cash for. And for the hundredth time tonight I remind myself that I'm doing this for Prim, to savor with her this last moment for child-like glee.

And so I make myself reach the rest of the distance and grab the doorknob, turn it, push open the door, and join my friends.

As I step out in the hallway, I can hear that the voices are coming from my left, at the end of the bus. I follow them, reassured by the increasing volume the further down the bus I travel. I find them all sitting in what looks like a small theater. At the very end of the bus, I can see a flat-screen tv playing some random channel I don't recognize. There are black leather couches lining the entire room, the only division between them the small walkway I'm standing in. My friends all sit on the these couches, sipping on what look like glasses of red wine. Yes, I can see it's wine now, the empty bottle sitting on table at the center of the ring of couches. I can tell they're all winding down, everyone in their own set of pajamas. Thankfully Johanna has a blanket slung over her lap so we're spared her bare legs and glimpses of her underwear.

"Katniss!" calls Prim. She looks much less sloshed now, which I attribute to the spread of rolls, meats and cheeses spread out in front of the group. "You're here!"

I smile at my baby sister, able to be more relaxed and teasing about her drunkenness now that we're in the safety of the bus. I risk a glance over at Peeta, who's looking at me keenly with twinkling eyes that seem to hold something I'm unable, or unwilling to process. He gives me a sweet and shy half-smile, then makes a 'wave' movement with his hand next to his ear. He's indicating my hair, which is still loose and unbraided. He mouths _'I like it'_ with a wink, and I'm imidiatly flustered.

I need to bite my rising affection for this boy in the bud, before it gets out of hand. So, I turn to Prim and say, "Prim, can you braid my hair?"

Prim shakes her head, giggling as the motion throws her slightly off balance. "Not tonight, Kitty-Kat," she mumbles happily, using the nickname only she's ever been allowed to utter. "I couldn't even if I wanted to tonight."

"Peeta said he'd shown you the bathroom," says Gale. "Somebody took too long?" He says this last bit while looking at Madge and nudging her shoulder with his.

Madge blushes. "Well Johanna took nearly an hour!"

I roll my eyes at Madge, plunking myself down between her and Prim.

"Please," I say, taking the glass of wine Prim hands me. "You were at half an hour when I left you."

Johanna snorts. "She only met us just now as we were getting on the bus." She turns to Madge, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. "I'd guess that puts you at nearly an hour yourself."

While Madge is fumbling over excuses, I take one of the plastic plates set out and load up my plate with food, my stomach growling for a midnight snack after all the anxiety the night has brought. The cheese is smooth and creamy, in perfect harmony with the juicy and salty deli meat. I savor the flavors, closing my eyes at the heaven. Really, rock stars get the best grub. I tell myself I'm responding this way to the meat purely on flavor, and not because Peeta is watching me so closely from his seat with Rory and Finnick on the couch opposite me. The hungry look in his eyes may be directed at the spread of food, but for a moment I allow myself to believe it's me he's looking at that way.

I'm washing the meat and cheese down with the last of a roll and my wine when a man's voice comes over the speakers in the room.

"Okay, folks," the disembodied voice of our driver says. "We're getting ready to take off. We'll be in New York in six hours with an ETA of 8am. Wake-up call at 7:30am."

Finnick groans and throws back the last of his wine with a grimace.

"Damn, I forgot how much I hate festival dates," he mutters, staring at his now empty glass.

"F-Festival?" Prim asks mid-yawn. "Tomorrow's a festival?"

"Yeah," Rory says with a sigh while rubbing his eyes with his fists. "It's a big concert with a bunch of big-name bands. We have to do a soundcheck at by 9am, then don't get our turn to play until two. And we can't even enjoy the festival until we're done playing, per our slave driver."

"You have a slave driver?" Johanna asks with a smirk. "Kinky."

Finnick chortles. "She's a joy. You'll get to meet her tomorrow. She's already there now getting everything ready."

"Tomorrow is one of the bigger dates," Gale explains. "With a big exposure event like tomorrow, we'll get more in ticket sales for the rest of the tour. So she's there to make sure everything is 'perfect'."

Suddenly the bus roars to life under us, moving forward with a jolt that makes Prim spill her wine on Johanna's lap.

"Damn it, Prim!" Johanna growls. Luckily, the wine landed only on the blanket on Johanna's lap. And even more lucky, the blanket is the exact same shade of red as the wine we've been drinking.

"Oh my gosh!" Prim exclaims, setting down her glass and picking up a napkin from the table to dabble at the wine of the blanket. "I'm so sorry, Johanna."

Gale chuckles and stands with a stretch then helps pull Madge up beside him. He reaches over and swoops up the blankets corners expertly, wrapping the blanket into a ball with the stain on the inside.

"Alright," he says with a sweet smile to Prim. "I think that's a sign it's time to hit the hay. Katniss," he says, turning to look at me. "Can you show the girls how to work the beds?"

"Where will you sleep?" Madge asks sweetly, giving Gale a quick squeeze on the arm.

"The couches at the front fold out into beds, so Finnick and Peeta will take those. These couches in here also fold out, so Rory and I will be in here." He gives Madge a sweet kiss on the lips. "We're all on either side of you guys, so you're safe here with us."

Rory and Gale help Peeta and Finnick gather up the remainder of the deli spread, which they take up to the kitchen and store in the fridge. Then the girls and I bid the boys goodnight and I show the girls how to close and lock the electronic sliding doors on either side of our bed compartment. When I open up each of our beds, the girls 'ooh' and 'ah' at the beds.

"This is so cool!" Prim exclaims, climbing up to her bunk above mine. "How cool is this?"

"Very cool," Madge responds as she turns off the compartment light. We're immediately plunged into darkness. I turn the crank of the light over my pillow, telling each of the girls how to turn theirs on as well.

"These aren't going to, you know," Johanna asks softly from her bed above Madge's, "close on us during the night, are they?"

I think about this for a moment, not having considered this before. "I don't think so," I finally say. "If yours does, I promise to let you out before lunch."

"Oh, haha," Johanna mutters. She then turns off her light and I can barely make out her turning over, effectively signaling the end of conversation and the beginning of bed.

I chuckle and bid the girls goodnight, sliding my sleep mask over my eyes to shut out the last bit of light coming from Gale and Rory's room under the door. The mask is in instant sleep signal to my brain and I can immediately feel myself drifting off to sleep. I'm nearly out when I hear Prim's soft voice fall from above me.

"Katniss?" Prim whispers softly.

"Yeah?" I respond sleepily, keeping my voice as quiet as possible to avoid Johanna's wrath.

"You're the best sister ever."

I smile at this. "I'll never be as good as a sister as you, Little Duck." I pause for a minute, then add, "I love you."

"I love you too."

And Prim's words echoing in my head are the last thing I hear as I finally fall into sweet dreams of music and ocean-blue eyes.

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

Phew. Sorry this is coming so late at night again, Fourth of July kept me busy...

Thanks to the lovely Peetaismyfuturehusband and Court81981 for taking on the task of betaing for me. You can thank Court for fixing all my hasty grammar errors and PIMFH for pushing for more Everlark in this chapter :)

Everlark is going to start hitting hard in the next chapter, so be ready!

I had originally planned on this being a fluffy 5-7 chapter story, but my Katniss and Peeta wouldn't let me go. Actually, just when I thought I was done writing this they told me a few things I _didn't_ want to hear but couldn't ignore. SO, this is going to be 21 chapters as of now, but I'm still reworking a few things with the new additions so that may change as I go along.

Thanks for all the support everyone, it's been amazing to see the response to this story so early in. Love it? Share it! :)

Find me on tumbler, Simplyabbeycat! I'd love to talk with all of you ;)

Kisses and Love!


	4. Chapter 4

Seize Me

Chapter 4

_"I'm in love with a girl I hate,_

_She enjoys pointing out every bad thing about me._

_I'm in love with a critic and a skeptic, a traitor,_

_I'd trade her in a second."_

_Forever the Sickest Kids-She's a Lady_

When all is said and done, I get probably close to five hours of sleep.

And Madge knows this, which is probably why she's made a point of avoiding me as a rule this morning, aside from when she'd handed me my coffee. And steering clear of someone on a tour bus—even one as large as this one—is a feat. So she must be really worried about my sleep-deprived angry bear side showing up this morning.

Which, in any other situation, it would.

But it's hard to be irritable when Prim is gently brushing my hair and weaving it into an intricate braid while humming along to the groove Gale's picking out on his bass over at his end of the couch. Peeta's sitting on the other couch across from us, nodding occasionally and hitting a few notes on his guitar now and then to go along with what Gale's doing, making suggestions here and there on key changes or complementing rhythms. I close my eyes and lean into Prim's hands, letting the relaxing croon of Gale's bass guitar and Prim's expert hands lull me into a state of utter Zen. That is, until Finnick ruins it by stopping his frantic pacing in the small room and throwing the notepad he'd been scrawling on against the wall in frustration.

"I'm telling you," he snarls, throwing his hands up in the air agitatedly. The pen he'd been holding also goes flying haphazardly through the small space as he says, "This sounds like everything else we've put out."

"Chill out," Rory replies coolly. He's leaning back in his armchair and spinning one of his drumsticks around his fingers with practiced ease. "People _like_ what we've been playing. What's wrong with keeping it up?"

"Putting out new music is a gamble," Finnick groans. He throws himself down on the small bench at the makeshift kitchen table, putting his elbows on the table and his face in his palms in exasperation. "You keep doing the same thing, they'll say you're a one-trick pony. Try something too different, they'll say you're trying too hard." He parts his fingers to give Rory a stern look between them. "They don't know what they want, so we have to figure it out ourselves and then convince them we got it right."

"I don't get it," Johanna huffs from her seat on the kitchen counter. She doesn't look up when she talks; instead she keeps her gaze riveted on her nails, which she's filing into perfect U-shapes. "Don't you have, like, a research team who finds out for you?"

Peeta speaks up now, his and Gale's attention having left the music to focus on Finnick's temper tantrum. "Sure, we have people who look at what kind of music is trending best with people nowadays." He gives a small shrug of resignation and says, "But the good artists are the ones who _make_ the music that set the trends. Some artists are content with always being followers, but we decided early on that's not what we do."

"Fight the man," Gale says with a goofy smile.

Peeta shakes his head. "I don't think fighting the man is really what we're going for." He gives Gale a fake patronizing smile that makes Prim giggle.

Gale throws out his hand at Peeta, flipping (it) in a downward (cut), waving Peeta off. The driver announces that we've arrived at the festival grounds, so Gale sets his bass off to the side and stands up to stretch, sighing as a few of his joints pop with the movement. Rory stands up and without a word, heads toward the back of the van. Following Gale's cue, Peeta also rises and grabs his guitar case and Gale's bass case. They each take a minute to loosen the strings a little to protect them while they're in the cases, then pack them up and sling them over their shoulders.

Madge stands and wraps her arms around Gale's waist, squeezing him tight.

"Hey," says Gale as he smiles and hugs her back. "We'll only be a little bit. We just have to get everything set up and checked then we'll meet you guys at the hotel. No worries."

Rory comes bounding back into the kitchen/dining/sitting room, weighed down by our overnight bags. Prim quickly finishes the elaborate braid she's been weaving in my hair and stands up to help him, thanking him profusely in her sweet little soprano voice that makes Rory go red with pleasure. He refuses to let her help, saying he'll put them in the car that's taking us to the hotel. Finnick follows him, calling that he'll help get the last of our luggage moved over to the car, and Johanna hastily skitters after him. Madge and Gale follow them, Gale continuing to reassure Madge that they won't be long and no, she shouldn't wait here for him, she should go back and relax at the hotel.

And suddenly I'm very aware that Peeta and I are the last ones left in the van.

Peeta slings his guitar case strap over his shoulder and gives me a wide smile.

"Excited to shower?"

I groan, suddenly more aware than ever of how sticky my skin feels, despite the quick wipe-down from last night. Luckily Prim's got my hair tied up so the greasiness shouldn't be so obvious. But I feel like he can smell me from where he's standing several feet away, and all I can concentrate on now is the itch of grossness that seems to have coated me within the last 24 hours.

Peeta chuckles. "Yeah, me too." He glances toward the door to the bus and sighs, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "But this shouldn't take too long. There are a couple other bands who want to get set up too, so they won't let us hog the stage for very long. The only reason they're doing this is to keep things moving as fast as possible to avoid stalling between bands."

I'm surprised by this. "I thought that's where venues made all their money—when people go buy beer between sets."

Peeta lets out a bark of a laugh that startles me. "Yeah, usually. But in a crowd this big—like, half a football stadium big—things can get out of hand quickly if they have a chance to get rowdy. The shorter time between sets, the less time people have to incite a riot."

Big crowd? Riots?

Ok. I don't know how this didn't occur to me before. I mean, when they said 'festival,' I should have known this wasn't going to be a club scene like before. But for whatever reason, I hadn't really considered the fact there'd be a large number of people there. And I hate big crowds. A bar full of people I can handle. But a freaking sea of people who could crush me in a second? Yep, not my thing.

"Hey," says Peeta softly. He reaches over and _takes my hand_. He wraps his fingers around my hand, squeezing in a way I'm sure he meant to be reassuring but really just makes my pulse race and my cheeks turn red. "Don't worry. Unless you want to, you guys won't even have to be in the crowd. You can hang out with us and the rest of the bands and watch the show from the wings." His smile is sweet and his eyes kind as he locks his gaze encouragingly with mine. "You'll have nothing to worry about."

I stare at him, not sure how to respond. I just met this guy yesterday; what's he doing talking to me like this as if he knows me? I'm torn between thanking him shyly or ripping my hand out of his with a curt word on personal space. But he doesn't give me the chance. Peeta immediately drops my hand and gives me an easy smile, shifting this strap of his guitar case again and sliding one hand through his hair. I wonder for a minute what his hair feels like—if it's as soft as it looks. But his easy, self-assured grin annoys me and I put my hands on my hips and lock eyes with him defiantly.

"Are we going?" I ask curtly. I have to stop this flirting of his and stop it now before anyone —including me —gets the wrong idea.

I expect Peeta to look offended or hurt, but he doesn't. Instead he gives me a wide smile and sweeps his arm out in front of him to gesture toward the bus door. His grin is teasing, his eyes twinkling as if he's amused by my antics. So I roll my eyes and without another word, leave him behind in the bus.

The boys will take a separate car to the hotel after the soundcheck and the van will stay here at the stadium until we're ready to go to the next venue. So it's just our luggage that's been piled into the sleek compact limo that's waiting for us outside the bus. The other girls are saying good-bye to the boys, but I don't say anything, making a beeline instead for the car. Gale calls out something about seeing me later, but I only wave my hand at him dismissively before yanking open the car door and throwing myself inside to escape the white-hot gaze on the back of my head that I know is Peeta's.

The car is just as sleek inside as it is outside. Everything is black leather with a bench running along the length of the car as well as facing the front and back of the limo in a horseshoe shape. I find a bottle of champagne and four glasses sitting in the small cooler and waste no time popping it open and pouring myself a glass, downing half of it in one long swallow.

"Geez," huffs Johanna, sliding in beside me. "Thanks for waiting for us."

"Oooo," sighs Prim, sliding in after Madge and Johanna. "Champagne!"

We all look at her, staring as she pours herself a generous glass. Not only had she managed to hold down glass after glass of alcohol last night, but she'd popped up this morning chipper as a daisy with not even a headache to show for how much she'd abused her body last night.

"I retract," scowls Johanna, "any 'light-weight' references I may have every made about you, Prim."

"Girl knows how to hold her liquor," Madge says, giving me a secretive smile as Johanna hands her a glass.

Once everyone has a glass, we all put them together in toast as Johanna declares, "To livers of steel."

Prim gives a laugh and adds, "And lots of practice at frat parties."

And everyone breaks into hysterical laughter as I splutter, choking on my champagne in horror.

* * *

I don't think any of us were expecting a room quite so extravagant as the one we walk into.

The front room is beautiful, all red and gold in color. The couches are a plush microfiber designed to perfectly contour to your body, all facing a large flat-screen TV. The entire far wall is solid glass, which we can darken with a remote we find on the desk. The kitchenette off to the side of the room has a full stove, oven and fridge, each one stainless steel and covered with different function buttons. The counters are a cream color like the ones on the bus with a rusty-red and gold flecking to complement the front room decor. The bedroom's equipped with two king-sized beds, two full chest dressers, and a large entertainment center holding another large flat-screened tv. The far wall in here is also solid glass, with red floor-to-ceiling curtains that can be electronically pulled to cover the window. The beds are simple with cream comforters and plush red pillows, each with a small box of Godiva chocolates—yum—on them. The connected bathroom is separated from the bedroom by frosted glass walls. The bathroom sports a whirlpool and a shower big enough for at least three or four people, and I try to ignore all the different scenarios I imagine could have taken place in there.

Johanna seems to be thinking the same thing I am, but she hardly has my tact.

"Holy shit," she mumbles, nudging Prim and Madge hard in the elbows. "Talk about a bathroom fit for a rock star."

I'm sure Prim hears her, but she's very good at pretending she hasn't. Instead she walks past us and the small crew of staff depositing our luggage on the bed to go back to the front room. She checks out a door I'd previously thought was a closet or the like, but I can see now it's got a key-card reader on it identical to the one on the front door.

"I'll bet this," she says, sliding the key-card into the lock, "connects to the room next door." She swings the door open to show another door on the other side of it. "If both doors are open, the rooms are conjoining." She turns and gives the three of us a wide smile. "I'll bet the boys are on the other side."

I look over and see Johanna looking back at the bedroom thoughtfully then turns to give the rest of us a sly smile. I think we all register what she's about to do about a second too late, because Johanna manages to rush to the bedroom—nearly knocking over the small crew who've just finished depositing the last of our luggage in our room—and seize her luggage then dive into the bathroom before I can blink. But Madge is faster and she makes a break for it, determined to cut Johanna off before she can successfully plant herself in there, but she's too slow. With a maniacal cackle I know she's spouting just to piss Madge off, Johanna slams the door in Madge's face.

"That bitch," Madge sighs, rubbing her nose and falling down on the bed as Prim and I follow her to the bedroom, ignoring the exiting staff who are staring at us peculiarly. "It's like she's so insecure that she needs to make sure the rest of us look like hags so Finnick will only notice her."

"Actually," Prim says as she sits down beside Madge, "I think the one she's worried about is Katniss."

"Ha!" Johanna shouts from the bathroom. I can hear the shower turning on and I'm overwhelmingly grateful she's not decided to soak in the whirlpool. "Like Finnick could even get Katniss to give him a second look, what with the way she's been making goo-goo eyes at Peeta."

Madge and Prim's gazes are on me instantly, their eyes wide in surprise.

"Really?" Madge asks, one corner of her mouth curving up into an amused smile. "Peeta?"

"No!" I shout, appalled. I stand firmly in the doorway between the front room and bedroom, ready to bolt from their scrutiny at a moment's notice. "No boys, Madge. I've already decided to swear off boys on this trip."

"Well that's not fun," Prim says with a roll of her eyes. "He's totally into you too."

I can't help it. I burst out laughing without any real mirth. "I sincerely doubt that, Little Duck."

Prim goes to say something, but Madge cuts her off. "Don't even try to convince her," she tells Prim, giving me a teasing sideways glance. "She never seems to believe that anyone could take an interest in her."

I try to come up with something to say in retaliation to this, but I've got nothing. And that's because it's true. I've never had anything to offer in any of my relationships with anyone except for Prim and Gale. Gale and I both worked together to keep sane after the deaths of our fathers and the sudden burden of caring for families neither one of us were prepared for. For Prim, I've given everything I have left—my time, my money, my energy. Johanna and I hadn't had anything else to give each other except our company and sarcasm, which is probably why we'd stuck with each other as long as we had. With Madge...well, Madge I really hadn't had anything for her, and she'd given me the world: friendship, financial support, housing after graduation. Madge had been a well of goodness for me. And I'd had nothing to offer her in exchange. And if I had nothing for Madge, I certainly didn't have anything for anyone else. So why would anyone take an interest in me?

So for now I allow the conversation to drop where Madge has left it, instead joining them in unpacking our bags. I'm sickened when I realize that nothing in the bag is mine from home. Actually, the bag is full of clothing you'd only see on the most chic of punk-rock girls, largely featuring leather and interesting cuts of different colored cloths. A quick glance over at Prim and Madge tells me their bags contain similar clothing, although Prim's reaction is very different from Madge's and mine.

"This is _so_ cool," she exclaims, ripping piece after piece out of the bag. It's almost comedic, really—like she's discovered Mary Poppins' endless bag of goodies. By the time she's done emptying the bag, she's covered an entire bed with its contents. Among the clothes, she's also located a small plastic parcel, which she unties to reveal a long roll of fabric with several pockets, all filled with pieces of jewelry. Prim's eyes are wide as saucer plates as she takes it all in, and my initial horror at the spread is replaced with a small bit of pleasure at watching Prim's joy. She's never had pretty, nice things to enjoy, and I'd always hated the looks she got in grade school in her hand-me-down dresses. I know I'll have to work overtime to pay Gale back for all of this, but in this moment I know it's worth it.

"I can't believe that Gale Hawthorne," Madge sighs, fingering a lacy shirt forlornly. "He must be doing better than I thought."

"I'm going to kill him," I mutter half-heartedly as I start to pick through the clothes.

"Good," Madge says with a smile. "It will save me the effort."

We—and by 'we' I mean Madge and Prim—are just starting to pick out outfits for the three of us when Madge pipes up without warning, catching me off guard.

"He remembered you from when you visited Gale a few years ago," Madge says nonchalantly, although I can see her watching me closely for a reaction. "Peeta did," she clarifies when she sees the confused look on my face. "He'd asked about you after you left, wanted to know how you'd been since graduation."

"Graduation?" I ask, confused. I don't trust myself to look her in the eye. Instead I keep sorting through my bag, trying to find something I can imagine myself buying on my own volition. So far, no luck.

Madge shrugs and says, "Yeah, he went to highschool with us." She stares at me now, watching me pointedly avoid her gaze as I rifle through the endless array of clothing. Then she realizes I genuinely don't know what she's talking about. "Oh my God," she says softly. "You really don't remember him do you?"

I swear her head goes in a full 360˚ when I shake my head 'no,' still unable to meet her eyes. I don't know why I'm so embarrassed by it. Maybe because, based on the way my body's responding to him now, it must have been a feat for me to have been totally oblivious to him in high school. I could argue I'd been too distracted to notice boys, but that's not really true. I'd had a few boyfriends in high school, even more in college. So, there's no reason I wouldn't have remembered him.

"Katniss," she hisses in exasperation. "He was on the wrestling team. His family ran the bakery in town. He was in our _class_."

"No way," I say as I rise from my bag and cross my arm indignantly. There's no way I'd been so disinterested in boys during high school that I'd missed eyes that blue. "I'd remember him."

"Please," Johanna said, stepping out of the bathroom. "You were oblivious to anyone outside of our little group."

I'm shocked to see her coming out so soon, one towel wrapped around her waist and another tied like a turban around her head. I'd been expecting it to be almost an hour before we saw her again. A quick glance at the clock tells me she's only been in there about fifteen minutes. I can see a look of surprise on Madge's face too, but I don't get to look at her long because she's immediately diving into the bathroom and slamming the door on Johanna before she can even twitch in the direction of going back in. The look on her face is enough to send both Prim and me into fits of laughter, to which she responds by sticking her nose up in the air and dropping her towel with a smirk, leaving her standing there in nothing but the towel on her head.

Prim and I immediately stop laughing.

* * *

Remarkably, all of us are in and out of the shower in an hour. Prim's taken on the task of doing all of our hair and, despite Madge's and my protests, Johanna tackles our make-up. But I'm pleasantly surprised with the results, as is Madge. Johanna has expertly lined our eyes and has applied high and low lights on our faces in all the right places, and I'm relieved to see she's kept the liner and shadow to a modest level in comparison to the dark lines her high cheekbones can pull off. Prim's done my hair in a waterfall braid that stops at the scalp and she ties it off into a ponytail with a black ribbon. Madge's is up in an elegant pile on top of her head, but for herself, Prim just weaves a simple braid across the top of her crown, using it as a hair band for the rest of her hair. Johanna refused styling, instead going for her usual high and tight ponytail.

Prim and Madge have manage to wrangle me into a pair of leather hot-shorts, which I only allowed when they promised I could wear stockings under them to cover the exposed skin. However, I hadn't had the foresight to says what _kind_ of stockings, so they'd put me in a set of black lace stockings they'd found in my bag. I had silently cursed the stylist Cinna for his selections, but I'd internally retracted my anger when I realized they actually did do a pretty good job of covering my legs. Madge had talked Prim out of the black corset she'd picked out for me, alternatively choosing a simple black V-neck similar to my one from last night. Prim and Madge have dressed similarly in tight black skinny jeans and flowing, brightly colored tops.

Johanna, unable to resist her need to top us all, is wearing a set of tight black leather pants with a white tank-top with a neckline so low I almost blushed for her sake. Thankfully, the plunging neckline has three strips of cloth keeping it from widening and Cinna had packed her some sticky tape to keep _things_ in place. You'd think after years of minimal clothing and raunchy talk all these years I'd be used to her. But I still find myself mortified in her presence when she's dressed like this.

"You're not going to try to seduce Finnick tonight, are you?" Madge asks suspiciously. Johanna's sly smile in answer makes Madge moan. "Come on, Johanna. How are the rest of us supposed to sleep when _that's_ going on?"

"Wait," I ask, an idea occurring to me. I raise my eyebrow at her and give her my best 'stern' look. "What _are_ the sleeping arrangements?"

Johanna looks like a Cheshire cat who has just caught the biggest mouse to ever have the misfortune of straying in her path. "Yes, my dear Madge," she asks slyly. "What _are_ the sleeping arrangements?"

Madge groans. "Oh, come off it you two. I'll be in here with you guys, and Gale will be in the next room with Rory, Peeta and Finnick."

"You guys don't want your own room?" Prim asks innocently. "I'd have thought you'd want to sleep next to him, what with you guys not having seen each other in so long."

Madge actually blushes now and completely turns away from me, unwilling to meet my eye now. "We'll…we'll have lots of time together later."

"Later?" I get a sickening sensation when she looks away, the kind I get whenever she's about to drop a very unpleasant bomb on me. "What do you mean?"

Madge turns back to me, and I can see she's biting her lip now, something she does whenever she says something she knows I'm not going to like. "I'm not resigning our lease with you next year."

"You're…not?" I ask, the bottom of my stomach abruptly falling out. It's funny, in a way, how that one sentence sends me reeling so easily. "But…we were going to resign online next week."

Madge looks completely guilty right now and I know that she's been holding on to this for a while now, worried about what I'll say. She takes hold of her shirt, fingering the bottom hem nervously as she talks. "Gale…Gale asked me to come to California with him. I'm going to go live with him there."

I'm completely dumbstruck. I fall back and sit on the bed, my knees going out from under me. What will I do next year? No way can I afford rent on my own, and everyone else already has roommates by now. How could Madge do this to me?

"When did this happen?" I ask quietly. It's now my turn to be unable to look Madge in the eyes. I'm very hurt by this, more than I'd ever really expected to be. I'd never really seen myself as overly dependent on Madge for anything, but the idea of her not being there next year puts a sick feeling of dread in my bones. Who will keep me sane? First Gale left, now Madge? And with Prim's last year of college coming up she's going to leave me soon too. I'm going to be alone, living in a tiny little apartment with nothing to do but stare at my walls and count all the ways I wish things would have turned out differently.

"Right before the tour." Madge sits down softly next to me and I can tell how sorry she is in the way she's looking at me. Her sadness is evident and soothing to my pride. "I graduated, so there's nothing holding me here. No job, no apartment anymore. I can go live with him now. We don't have to be separated anymore."

"Until he leaves you to go party on tour with his buddies," I grumble out. I know I'm not being fair, but her comment on nothing holding her here anymore stings.

Well, if she doesn't see the value in our friendship and rooming together then what do I see in it? Nothing, that's what. If Madge can up and leave me so easily, why should I be bothered enough to care that she's doing it?

"That's not how it is with Gale and you know it," Madge says, draping an arm around my shoulder. "I'd ask you to come with us, but I know you won't leave Prim. You and I both know that you'll probably never leave Prim behind. And I don't fault you for that." She says quickly as she shakes her head and I can see how sad upset she is by this. "But I need to be with Gale. I have to. We've survived the separation this long, but I don't know how much longer I can stand only seeing him on tabloid covers. Being with him will make everything so much better. Can't you understand that, Katniss?"

I close my eyes shut hard, squeezing them closed in frustration as my hands ball up into fists. I hate that she's right. I won't leave Prim behind, which means I can't go with her to California. I wouldn't do well in a concrete jungle anyway. Too much of my blood is filled with the life of the forest around Twelve. Between Prim and the woods, I could never leave Twelve behind. Not for anything. I'm tied to the woods indefinitely, drawn to them most in the moments I'm at my saddest. My father always took me to the woods; he taught me how to use a bow and arrow. That bow and arrow were my strength, and they reminded me I'm not as powerless as I'd always thought I was. The thrum of earthly energy that flowed from my woods through me and into my bow were the only thing that had kept me sane after his death. And when I'd found Gale in those woods after our dads died, crouched over some kind of trap he'd been making up, he'd become a source of strength for me too.

No, I could never leave Twelve or its woods behind.

"I understand," I say softly. I turn and look at Madge, saying the next thing that comes to mind. "Who will I live with next year with you gone?"

Prim jumps in immediately at this, a wide smile breaking her face nearly in two. "Me!" she says excitedly. She comes bouncing over to me from her seat by the window and plops down on the other side of me so hard that Madge and I bounce a little on the bed with the movement.

I turn to her, unable to process what she's saying, what she means. "You?" I ask quietly.

Prim nods excitedly, grasping my hands in hers. "I didn't register for the dorms this year. When Madge told me she was moving to California, I knew you'd need a roommate." She looks bashful now as she says, "I hope you don't mind."

My mouth falls open, and I'm temporarily speechless. I can't seem to process what she's saying, can't wrap my head around the idea that she'd be just down the hall from me. I've felt so disconnected from my sister since I'd left for college, and the ache in my chest has become a permanent sort of fixture inside me. It lifts somewhat at the feeling of hope that accompanies the idea of living with her again. Then I manage to say, "What? Are you kidding? Of course I don't care, Prim. That's amazing."

Prim's ridiculously large smile is back now. "We're going to have so much fun next year! We haven't lived in the same house in years. It will be like coming home."

Madge squeezes my shoulder, which she still has in her grip. "See? Everything works out." She pushes her body against mine, swaying our bodies in a comrade sort of way and says, "I'm sorry I have to leave you, Kitty-Kat." I flinch at the nick-name, annoyed that she's reverted to a name she only uses when she's trying to reason with me. "But we had to know this would happen someday."

I sigh and nod, not trusting myself to speak. So I sit here and enjoy the feel of Madge's arm around me and the idea that Prim is moving in with me. I'm not overly thrilled with the idea of Madge leaving me behind, but the fact that Prim will be moving in to take over is a balm to my wounds. At least it will be until Prim leaves me too.

"Oh," Johanna says nonchalantly from in front of the large mirror in the corner of the room where's she's been adjusting and retouching her makeup for the last ten minutes. "I'm moving in too."

_And_ my peace is broken.

"What!" I ask, jumping off the bed in shock. I look over at Johanna, who's now applying a fresh coat of lip-gloss in the mirror and stare her down intently. "What do you mean you're moving in?"

Johanna doesn't immediately respond. Instead she nods at her reflection in the mirror, popping her lips once she's done wiggling them together to spread the lip-gloss around. Then she turns and walks to her bag to get a hair brush and starts brushing out her hair, seemingly unaware of the bomb she's just dropped.

"Prim said she was moving in with you, I asked her if she wanted to make it a three-way." She throws Prim a look that's intended to be scandalous. "And she, of course, said yes."

Johanna is saved from Prim's retort and my frantic questioning when the door to connecting our hotel rooms bursts open to reveal Gale, Rory, Finnick and Peeta. They've all changed into fresh sets of clothes, although the differences between tonight's looks and yesterdays are barely noticeable. They're all in jeans again, although Rory and Peeta are wearing black ones tonight, with obscure band t-shirts to match.

"Are you guys ready?" Gale asks. He's got a big smile on his face and I can tell by the glimmer in his eyes he's excited for tonight.

Johanna rolls her eyes. "If you even have to ask, then no, we're not."

Madge shakes her head, ready to call Johanna's bullshit, but Finnick is immediately at Johanna's side, throwing an arm around her waist jovially.

"You look beautiful, Ms. Mason," he says happily. "The vision of a rock goddess."

Johanna blushes but pushes him away, a small smile falling on her face. "Well, then I suppose we're ready."

I've been watching the exchange between Finnick and Johanna worriedly, a small pit of apprehension widening in my stomach when I look over at Peeta. He's staring at me intently, his eyes dark as he takes in what I'm wearing. I immediately move to dive for my jacket, fully intending to cover as much of my exposed skin as I can with it. But Prim is suddenly there in front of me, blocking my path with a teasing smile.

"Stop it," she hisses softly. "You look great."

"You do," Peeta says softly, his eyes now bright with amusement at my antics. "Don't be so quick to hide."

Gale lets out a loud, long chortle at this. "I never knew you had legs, Everdeen." He gives me a serious, contemplating look now though and says, "Not bad."

I flush instantly at this, far more embarrassed than I can ever remember being before. I'm struggling to find something to say, but Madge is there in a second, smacking Gale hard on the arm and giving him an only half-way serious scowl.

"You, Mr. Hawthorne, need to keep your eyes off places you wouldn't put your hands."

"Is that the rule for all of us?" Finnick asks with a wicked smile. "Because that still leaves me with a lot of options."

"Oh good grief," sighs Prim. She looks over to Rory, who's shaking his head at his brother's antics. Rory has always been the clown of the Hawthorne family but has always had the innocence to keep the jokes cleaner than his older brother.

"Welcome to my life," he says, his lips lifting up into a goofy half-smile.

Gale seizes his brother in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles on Rory's head with pressure hard enough to make the boy squirm. "You're lucky to be here at all, little brother."

Rory finally manages to wiggle free, shoving his brother so hard that he nearly falls over from the force of it. "Please," he sighs. "Without me, you wouldn't have a band at all."

Peeta grins, his tone joking at he says, "Like drummers are hard to find in California."

Rory throws his hand at Peeta, dismissing the jab. "I work cheap and I was on a plane only two hours after the call." He gives Prim a wide smile. "That's dedication, there."

"Oh, please," Finnick sighs. He comes over and takes my hand, pulling me toward the door of the hotel. "Stop panting over each other's dicks and let's go. We've got a show to do."

I let Finnick pull me along, enjoying the feel of his rough hand in mine, but I look back to check that everyone's following. Johanna looks a little put out that Finnick didn't grab _her_ hand, but I can't help thinking that this will help keep her cool when it comes to any attraction she's harboring for the man. But Prim's slung her arm through Johanna's and is giving her a smile that you just can't help return. Gale's got his arm wrapped around Madge's waist and he's steering her along behind us, leaving Peeta and Rory to follow. I lock eyes with Peeta momentarily. He gives me a brief, shy smile, but his eyes are glittering with something more feral than what I'd expected, his eyes flickering quickly to Finnick's and my joined hands. I tilt my head at him, curious over what he's thinking, but I don't say anything. Instead I make myself ignore the look and the feelings it sends coursing down my spine and turn back to see where Finnick is dragging me, which is apparently the elevator.

Finnick and I are the first to arrive at the sleek gold doors of the high-speed elevator that will drop us quickly down 20 flights, and idea that makes me more nervous than I'll ever admit out loud. He punches the 'down' arrow smoothly, then leans up against the wall in a way I'm sure he thinks is very cool. The others are just catching up to us when the elevator dings, announcing its arrival. We all shuffle in, wordless except for Prim's and Johanna's inane babble that dominates the space and prevents anyone from putting in another word.

And somehow, even though he'd been at the back of the group, Peeta manages to get himself wedged in beside me in the back of the elevator. Eight bodies isn't the most cramped I've ever been in an elevator, but I feel almost claustrophobic as I become hyper aware of his body standing so near to mine. He's standing closer than he needs to, leaning over me in a way that sends shivers down my spine. I can appreciate how broad and strong his body when it's so close to me, the width of it making me think things I shouldn't, like how it would feel to be wrapped in his arms.

And this puts me straight into a sour mood. What business does he have standing so close to me and making me think such irrational thoughts? A part of me wonders if Madge has been too forthcoming with Gale about my dry spell, and if Gale has shared this information with Peeta, it would explain why he insisted on doing things that made my body sing in anticipation, regardless of any rational thought I tried to push on it.

"Enjoy your shower?" Peeta asked softly. His breath tickles my neck, and I have to close my eyes to concentrate on _not_ thinking about how close his lips could be to my skin.

"Yes," I say curtly, taking a small step forward and away from him and his appealing body heat. "Thank you."

"Good." And then I think I can hear a smile in his voice as he says teasingly, "You sure smell better than you did earlier."

Oh my God. He didn't just comment on my _body odor_.

"Well," I hiss at him as I throw a glare over my shoulder at him. "Maybe you shouldn't stand so close to me."

"We're in an elevator, Kitty," he says in a mock covert tone, his eyes twinkling with mirth at my angry reaction to the hated nickname. "We kind of have to stand together."

I look pointedly at the empty space on the other side of the elevator between Gale and Finnick, but Peeta doesn't move. Instead, he chuckles low under his breath, which continues tickling my neck just behind my ear. I think to turn around and risk locking eyes with him just so I can tell him off, but the elevator quickly comes to a smooth stop and the doors open. Finnick and Rory push forward ahead of everyone eagerly, and soon we've left the elevator behind and are moving into the hotel lobby. And so I don't get another chance to reprimand Peeta because we're immediately ushered into another limo by a tall, broad man in a suit. And then there's too much champagne to drink to leave much room for telling him off anytime soon. I throw down two glasses in quick succession, enjoying the fuzzy feeling that dampens my nerves. Between the crowd at the festival and Peeta's lingering stare I'm going to need every drop of liquid courage I can get.

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

Surprise! I couldn't resist posting a day early...I know, call me a rebel ;)

A couple of people have made some sad comments about how few reviews this thing has. Over 200 of you have favorited/followed this story but there's only a handful of reviews. If you liked it, tell me! Don't like it, tell me! I'd love to get feedback from everyone and see what they think. Please? :)

Help me spread the word on tumblr and follow me, I'm simplyabbeycat.

Thanks again to my amazing beta Court81981 who is always a source of encouragement and praise, even when I think I've spewed out utter crap. Guys, it wouldn't be that good looking without her help. Also a special thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys are awesome. I think so many of you, based on your reviews, are going to be happy with where this is going.

I'm going to try and get a few more chapters cranked out to my lovely beta Court81981 and maybe we'll get an early update up next week in addition to the Friday one. Reviews are the best source of encouragement, so help me make it happen everyone.

Kisses and Love, everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

Seize Me

Chapter 5

_" Stars still burn bright_

_Seasons change overnight_

_As we find a way the times they come and go_

_Look back in love"_

_The Offspring-Days Go By_

Peeta hadn't been kidding about how big the crowd would be. We can hear the festival before we saw it the low pounding of a bass and the thrum of voices and cheers from the crowd. I don't even realize I've been bouncing my knee in anticipation until Peeta put his hand on it, steadying me. He gives me an easy, reassuring smile.

"Don't worry," he says softly, low enough that the other six chattering people in the car can't hear him. "We're going to go around to the back of the two stages they have set up. Gale, Rory, Finnick and I aren't allowed to be in the crowd, so you guys can stay out of it too."

Madge, who'd been watching our exchange closely while suspiciously eyeing Peeta's hand on my knee, pipes up with a slight whine. "No," she sighs sadly, turning to Gale. "I want to walk around and see everything."

"Oh my God," Johanna say, looking out the window as the full festival came into view. "They have an 'I Love Vagina' stand." She turns to Prim, nudging her conspiratorially with a twinkle in her eye. "We _have_ to go check that one out."

I start to protest, but Gale whips around and gives me a look that clearly tells me he'll restrain me by whatever means necessary to keep me from interfering with Prim. It irritates me how much I'm expected to tolerate of my baby sister being corrupted by Johanna Mason. It's hard to remember that Prim's an adult now and has been for three years. I know he's right about leaving her alone to do what she wants, but I don't like it. I shoot him a glare and settle back in my seat to stare darkly out the window, thinking traitorous thoughts against Gale Hawthorne.

Peeta is right. Half a football stadium's worth of people are milling around the large park-like area we are skirting around. Dozens of vendors with stands out hawk goods at the various passersby, almost all of whom are carrying a clear plastic cup of beer, ranging from the amber of Bud Light to the dark and thick Guinness. I wrinkle my nose at the beer, which has always found a way to leave me miserably sick the next morning. But then I perk up at the sight of a few brightly colored hurricane glasses with paper umbrellas sticking out of the tops. I figure if I have to endure a large crowd, I want to do it with one of those in my hand.

The car pulls around the side of the gated-off crowd to a roadblock monitored by men dressed all in black. The men are sweating profusely behind their matching aviator sunglasses, but they don't move to wipe the sweat away. They just stand there with one hand on the walkie-talkies pinned to their shirts and the other hand on a small holster at their hip that is too small to hold a gun—probably pepper spray. I can tell by the subtle side-to-side movements of their heads they're scanning the area, keeping an eye out for anyone trying to sneak by. As we pull up, one of them comes up to talk to the driver. The driver must say or show the man something that satisfies him because he says something to the other security guard and they remove the gate blocking our way.

The driver pulls around behind the two stages set up at the far end of the park. We can see one band performing on one while the band on the other stage is in the middle of what I'm pretty sure is a sound check. The music is almost deafening this close, but then I'm surprised by how quiet it is as we pull around the backside of the stage.

The lot at the back of the stages is full of other buses like ours with little clusters of teams packed in front of each of them. It's pretty easy to tell who are the band and who are the caretakers. The band members seem to just sort of stand around and look bored while three to seven people flit around them nervously, talking nervously to both the band and each other. I can spy a couple of groups that are just sort of standing around and talking amiably, and those are the groups I suspect have already gone. A few of the groups merge and smack each other on the back and give 'bro' hugs, apparently all well-acquainted with each other.

The driver pulls up to a black bus that's apparently ours, but I don't recognize it. The top portion of the bus has expanded several feet, almost doubling the bus in size. Gale explains the hydraulics and how it's designed to give more space for maneuvering inside when an entire team of people is moving in and out. Said team is standing around the front of the bus, chatting pleasantly in a group of six while two other figures stand off to the side. One of them is a tall man with long, chin-length blonde hair who's wearing a wrinkled suit. He's waving the drink in his hand through the hair as he vigorously gestures angrily at the wildly dressed, pink-haired female standing across from him. She has one hand on her hip and is shaking the other hand in the man's face, her finger wagging at him in apparent frustration.

"Great," sighs Peeta. "We didn't get here fast enough."

"Good old Haymitch and Effie," Finnick groans, reaching his arms above him in a stretch. "Probably arguing over who gets to tackle us first."

The driver parks the car in front of the group then gets out to come open the car door for us. Rory and Prim fall out first, followed by Johanna, Madge, Gale, Finnick, Peeta and finally, me. We've barely gotten out of the car when the shouting duo descend, the female nearly digging her claws into Rory, who she reaches first.

"Now, gentleman," she says quickly. "We need to discuss the reservations for tomorrow—"

"The key change for 'Michael's Redemption'," the man bursts in, cutting the woman off. "I think we should go back to the first version, might fit this crowd better—"

They press in on the boys, who have retreated against the car in an attempt to avoid the onslaught. We girls carefully skitter to the side to get away, leaving the boys to their own devices. We _do_ manage to get away, but not before I get a whiff of expensive perfume and whiskey as they approach.

"Oh god," Gale says, shoving his way past them. "Get off."

Peeta smiles widely at the shocked and annoyed looks they give Gale, then turns to address Madge, Johanna, Prim and me where we stand near the trunk of the car. "This is Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket. Haymitch is our road band manager and Effie is our coordinator." He gives them each a cool but polite look. "I promise," he adds, "they're not usually like this."

"Oh don't try to sugar coat it," Finnick says, hopping over and taking Effie smoothly into his arms with a charming smile. "These two couldn't hate anyone else in the world more than they hate each other."

Effie huffs and sticks her nose in the air as she pushes Finnick away from her. "I don't _hate_ anyone," she says hotly. "_Hate_ is not an emotion that distinguished women have." She gives Haymitch a disdainful look and says, "I just find him unrefined and a terrible drunk."

She's got her hands on her hips in a way I know she intends to be intimidating, but it's hard for a woman who looks like her to appear like anything more than a fragile, hopeless butterfly. She's dressed in a puffy blue skirt that doesn't go any lower than mid-thigh, her legs covered by matching tights that twinkle with some sort of small built-in lights. She's wearing a tight, long-sleeved pink jacket that has to be sweltering on her in this heat. The shoulders are poufy and slit in several places to reveal a fluorescent orange lining underneath. Her hair is either a pink wig or has been dyed that way and is piled up in a hair-do so tall it makes _my_ neck ache. To top it all off, she's wearing a set of orange heels to match her jacket that have to be three to four inches tall. She looks like something you'd see in an out-there fashion show and totally out of place amidst all of the glam-rock everyone else is wearing.

"We'll discuss everything after the show, Effie," Peeta says firmly, giving Effie a brief smile before turning to the rest of the crew, who've been standing by relatively patiently in comparison to the two-person ambush we've just been received by. "What do you guys need from us?" he asks them.

I recognize one person out of the group—Cinna. He's standing with one other man and three women. The first, and calmest, woman is tall with smooth chocolate skin and a mane of orange hair she's tied up into a large ball on top of her head. Cinna introduces her as Portia. They are the stylists for the band and are in charge of wardrobe and public image when on the road. The other two women are Octavia and Venia and the second man is Flavius, all of whom make up the prep team. The three of them explain they're the ones to put into action everything Portia and Cinna command. They are both pretty laid back and easygoing, but the prep team has to be on something to make them so chipper, I'm sure of it.

Octavia, clad in some sort of dress covered by sequins and brightly colored clam shells with matching go-go heels, is the youngest of them all and I'd pin her at about my age. The amount of energy she seems to be holding in makes my head ache as I watch her rock back and forth on her heels in an excited way that eerily reminds me of Prim. Venia is older, probably in her late thirties or forties, but looks no less glamorous than Octavia in an outfit of bright greens and purples that hurts my eyes to look at for too long. And while Octavia's make-up seems to be all bright colors and crazy combos, Venia gets her 'wow' factor from the scrolling gold tattoos over her face. I can't determine if they're real or drawn on because she's talking so animatedly with her companion. Flavius chatters excitedly with her, his hair an orange corkscrew on his head that bounces as he nods in response to something she says.

I look at Peeta, raising an eyebrow at him in skepticism. "Where did you guys _find_ these people?"

Before Peeta can respond, Cinna jumps in and cuts him off with a soothing laugh directed at me. "Effie hired me at the start of the tour. I found these three at a salon school in Russellville, Arkansas. Actually," he says with a slight smirk, "they'd just been kicked _out_ of salon school." He lowers his voice conspiratorially and says, "A little too wild for southern taste."

I can't help but smile back at Cinna, warming to him immediately. He's not dressed as extravagantly as his team. Actually, he looks at home here with all of these bands. His pants are leather and he's wearing a simple white shirt coupled with a few dark leather and cotton cords tied at his wrists. I think I spot a little gold eyeliner on his lids, but instead of looking too 'glam,' it actually brings out the gold flecks in his eyes.

I surprise myself by asking, "And so you decided they needed to be in the world of rock and roll prep?"

Cinna's laugh is booming now, and I feel a bubble of pleasure rise in me at the sound of it, heating me from chest to extremities. "Sort of," he says. "As wild as their personal style is, these guys really are geniuses." He turns and gives his team a fond look. "I wouldn't work with anyone else."

Gale comes over and pokes me hard in the arm, a mischievous smile on his face as he says, "You know, Octavia swears she gives the best Brazilians. I bet she'd do one for you if you—oof!"

I cut Gale off with a swift fist to the stomach, sending him doubling over in surprise. He sputters and coughs, turning away to clutch onto the side of the car for support. I turn back to Cinna and Peeta to find them both staring at me in astonishment, eyes bouncing back and forth between a smiling me and a nearly-in-tears Gale.

"So," I say nonchalantly, crossing my arms over my chest. "When do you guys go on?"

"Uh…" Peeta says, still staring at Gale, who's just starting to be able to breathe deeply in an attempt to regain the air I've just punched out of him. Madge is at his side now, fussing over him. She gives me an exasperated look, which I respond to with a shrug. "I think we're one of the next ones," he continues. "Right, Cinna?"

Cinna's face has now changed to one of amusement once Gale is on his feet and sputtering out curse words mixed with my name. "Yes," he says slowly, "as long as Gale can still go on."

"He'll be fine," Rory says with a wave of his hand in the direction of his brother. "It's not like he has to sing or anything."

"Yeah," says Finnick, stepping away from me slowly. "So stay away from _me_."

I roll my eyes but give Finnick a quick smile in response. Sighing, I go over to Gale, who's been placed in a lawn chair by Madge. I crouch down next to him and put a hand on the arm of his chair, giving him a small smile and a firm stare.

"You should know better by now, Hawthorne." I say quietly, trying hard to keep the laughter out of my voice as he gives me a comedic glare.

"I forgot," Gale wheezes out, "how hard you can hit."

I grace him with a broad smile now, reassured he'll live, and slap him on the knee as I stand. "You'll remember now, I'm sure."

"Not sure I'll ever be able to forget after that," he mutters to himself. I grin but don't answer.

"You _had_ to hit him," Madge mutters as she slings her arm around mine. "Right before they go on stage?"

I shrug. "He'll be fine. I've hit him harder."

Madge seems to be fighting a smile now as she nudges me with her shoulder. "I don't doubt it," she says.

"Gonna make it, Hawthorne?" Haymitch asks, coming over to hit Gale firmly on the shoulder.

Gale grunts at the impact but manages a, "Sure, boss."

"Good," Haymitch grumbles. The drink in his hand is only about halfway gone, but he throws back the entire contents in one swallow before he says, "Cuz you guys are on."

Gale bats off a few offers of help and hauls himself out of his chair, throwing me a hard look in the process. A team of people in khakis and black shirts with earpieces in come over and escort us up to the right-hand stage. Madge, Johanna, Prim and I are ushered off to the side of the stage where we won't get in the way. We're instructed to stand there and to _not move_ by a woman who looks like she could throw all four of us over her shoulder and haul us off the stage if we don't follow her orders. Johanna is in the middle of telling Madge to complain to Gale about the 'poor' treatment when a smiling young woman dressed in a sleek red dress comes up with a tray of four drinks in the hurricane glasses I'd been eyeing earlier on the drive.

"Oh yum!" Prim says, reaching out to eagerly take one of the cocktails. Before any of the rest of us can take one she's slurped down a heavy amount and closes her eyes in satisfaction. "Piña Colada...dear god this is good."

Johanna snatches one for herself and Madge and I follow suit. I can see now that Prim's right, the beverage inside is white and blended and smells like coconut and pineapple. Piña Coladas are a rare treat for us, what with blended drinks being so expensive and us not having a blender at home. I take a tentative sip and the flavor races over my tongue, thick and wonderful. I close my eyes, enjoying the tang of the pineapple and the cream of the coconut. I bite my lip to keep myself from taking another sip, wanting to savor it.

I sneak a glimpse at Prim, and I can see she's already downed half of hers in excitement. But she's slowed down now and is sipping mildly from the glass when she says, "Peeta's looking at you."

I whip my head around to look onto the stage. Peeta's got his guitar slung over his shoulders now, and he's wearing an absent sort of smile as he looks over at us. He smiles broadly when he sees I've been alerted to his attention. His fingers lift off the guitar strings in a subtle wave as he gives me a wink. I fight the blush I feel rising in my cheeks and wave back. Prim's wave is more energetic as she yells, "Good luck!"

The boys don't have long to do their last sound check as the band on the other stage is finishing up their set. Luckily everything from this morning seems to have worked out perfectly because it's nothing but thumb-ups from each of them to the sound system techs. I sneak a peek around the simple stage curtain we've been forbidden to cross and take a look at the crowd. It's migrating to this stage now that the other stage's band is done and exiting. You can tell the people on the outskirts are just here because the other band is done, but in front I can make out the hard-core fans who've waited all day to get up to the front of the crowd and as close to the stage as they can get without crossing the barriers. I can even see a few of the dark purple shirts the band had put out with their first album. The gold design of their signature 'Mockingjay' shines whenever someone's shirt catches the light just right.

I'm nearly shocked out of my pants by the sudden string of notes that come wailing from the speakers on stage. My head snaps around to look out at the stage to see Peeta bent backwards a little as his fingers fly over the strings, a small smile on his face. The crowd roars in excitement, taking Peeta's guitar as the signal that the band is ready for the show. Finnick does a quick greeting to the crowd, announcing their name, making a few catchy remarks. And then Gale's bass picks up as Rory sets a beat and they start to play.

It's only been twenty-four hours since I've heard them play. But I've forgotten how good they look up there. Finnick is the ideal front man, all sex and allure. I can never decide if his voice is gritty and rough or smooth and charming. Both are styles that suit his voice and the music, enough so you can almost ignore the words he's singing and just enjoy the music (the tones?) that comes from his mouth. Gale fits the bass perfectly; his always moody temperament suited to something as mellow and deep as the music that comes from those strings. Peeta also fits his instrument perfectly. In the short time I've known Peeta, I've gotten the sense that he's the true charmer of the group, not Finnick. Peeta can win over anyone by saying anything, much like his guitar can pull in an audience. And fun-loving Rory on the drums is perfect, keeping everyone chugging along/

Johanna whoops and hollers in excitement, swaying her hips back and forth to the music. She throws her head back with eyes closed, one hand toward the sky as she lets the music wash over her. I envy her in that moment, as I often have in days before, her ability to forget the world and just take each moment as it comes. Prim is her usual excitable self, rocking back and forth on her feet in her. She gives an occasional shout too, sometimes an encouraging word or just a scream of happiness. Even Madge, who's usually so reserved like me, gets into the music. Her hips move back and forth like Johanna, and I can see her eyes are shining in the stage lights. Yet despite the light hitting her eyes, I can tell that her eyes are dark with desire as she takes in Gale, who's playing the role of moody bass player perfectly.

I let my eyes stray to Peeta more than necessary, enjoying the happiness on his face as I watch him play off the crowd with his energy. He steps up to the front of the stage and I can see the front section of girls nearly knock down the guardrail in an attempt to get closer to him. A few security guards go to encourage the girls backwards, and one of the guards even turns around to give Peeta a dirty look for making his job harder. Peeta just gives the guy an easy smile and shrugs, then goes back to the center of the stage with Finnick. As he turns, he faces us and gives us a distracted smile until his face finds mine. His smile falls a little as he looks at me, tilting his head to the side in apparent confusion. His scrutiny makes my skin itch and I give him back a defiant stare. His eyes sharpen as he raises an eyebrow at me, but he doesn't have long to linger on me because Finnick is pushing his back up against Peeta's as Peeta progresses into a short solo that makes the crowd howl in fervor.

I'm able to ignore the testosterone on the stage for the most part, which is a feat considering the dry spell that's been hovering over me like a depressing black rain cloud for longer than I'm comfortable admitting. I think I'm going to make it through the show without getting caught in the sex-charged atmosphere up until Peeta opens his mouth wide to shout something to Gale and the stage lights catch on his tongue ring.

Dear god. I'd forgotten about the tongue ring. _How_ had I forgotten about the tongue ring? I force myself to look away from his face and focus on his hands. But I'm immediately caught up in the tattoos that encircle his wrists, wondering what they are, scolding myself internally for not inspecting them more closely before. And as I move down from his wrists my eyes fall on his fingers. I admire the way they move skillfully across the strings on the neck of the guitar while his pick flies deftly strings on the body. I find my defiant mind wandering to other skills that involve hands. God, what must he be able to do with his hands? Anyone who can play like that has fine-motor skill control over their fingers. Anyone who can do that can surely do well doing...

Shit.

This is the last time I go to a rock concert during a dry spell. A girl can get into too much trouble when hot men with piercings and tattoos go parading in front of them like this.

"I thought you said you wanted the guitar player!" Johanna's mouth is at my ear, her breath heavy on my neck as she shouts over the music. The heat of it adds to the building throb between my leg, and the involuntary dry spell side-affect has me seriously reconsidering my 'no sex' rule on this trip. If anything Johanna Mason gets me hot and bothered then something needs to change.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, shouting myself to be heard.

"I saw you watching Finnick with that look in your eyes," she says accusingly as her eyes flash in challenge. "I thought you wanted the guitar player."

"When did I say that?" I shoot back, keeping my eye trained on the stage and refusing to look at her. I know Johanna is trying to egg me on, and it's already taking everything I have not to jump the next thing with a penis that walks by without her playing the devil on my shoulder.

"Last night," Johanna says, raising an eyebrow at me. "When I said _I_ wanted him."

"You picked Finnick first," I say evasively, throwing a shoulder into her to push her away.

"I can have them both," she manages to shout as I shove her away. Her smile is mischievous and I know she's expecting a hot reaction from me.

And so, because I know that's what she wants, I should know not to do it. But I can't help the possessiveness that rises in me as I mouth, "No!" to her with a look that leaves little room for negotiation. Johanna backs off, but not before giving me a knowing smile as she turns back to watch the boys on stage.

The band plays eleven songs tonight with a ten-minute break for Finnick during which Peeta talks to keep the crowd entertained while their singer rehydrates. The crowd bellows in protest when Finnick announces that song number ten will be their last one. After song ten ends, the boys let the crowd talk them into the eleventh one before they finally jog off stage. They're all smiles and waves as they exit the stage but as soon as they cross the curtain line, I can tell they're beat. The light goes out of all of their eyes a little as the bounce in their steps dulls to a trudge. Peeta and Gale eagerly hand off their instruments; Finnick's already free of the microphone he'd left on stage and Rory had thrown his sticks to the crowd.

Madge's arms immediately go around Gale's neck and even though I can tell he's beat and sweaty, he still wraps his arms around her and grins at all of us.

"What'd you ladies think?" Gale asks. "A little different than a club, huh?"

"Totally," Prim chirps up in excitement. "I love it."

"Are we staying or do we need to go?" Madge asks. I can tell she's wanting to be accommodating, but I can see her eyes keep darting out and to the crowd, which is shifting over to the other stage's show.

"If everyone wants to stay, just let us go back to the bus and clean up," Gale says with a laugh. "Go get a few drinks and we'll be out there. Keep an eye on your phone; we'll call to meet up with you."

The boys walk with us to the lot behind the stages where the van is parked. Gale and Madge kiss quickly as we all give hurried goodbyes. The boys' goodbye is hurried from a need to shower, ours from Johanna's claws in our arms dragging us toward the waiting golf cart that will take us into the festival. I throw one last glance back at the boys, hoping to catch Peeta's eye to share my exasperation over Johanna with him, but their backs are already turned as they climb into the bus. So I sigh at myself and turn back to pay closer attention to where Johanna is steering us. Peeta Mellark is not worth getting dragged toward a faceplant into a pole.

* * *

Johanna wastes no time in getting us to the "I Love Vagina" booth. There she finds a tank top bearing the words "I have the pussy so I make the rules" and a wrist band with the words "I 3 Penis" on it. Even Madge has picked up a set up underwear with Coca-Cola style writing on the butt that say "Enjoy Cock." Prim curiously picks over a few things but, to my relief, doesn't purchase anything. As for me, I stand clear back as far as possible without being separated from the others. No way am I getting wrapped up into this. I've been waiting for Johanna to drag me into the mess of it all but luckily she's been so involved in the excitement of vagina-themed apparel that she's momentarily forgotten how much fun she has bringing up what a prude she thinks I am.

After that I take my turn in dragging the girls to a stand, only this one they whole-heartedly agree on going to with me. We managed to find a liquor stand after a few moments of looking but, to my disappointment, no colored hurricane glasses are in sight. So the other girls settle for three warm glasses of keg beer and I pick out a bagged margarita with one of those straws attached in plastic. It's half-way melted and nowhere near the five dollars I pay for it, but it's been heavy on alcohol— which was what I'd been needing to get me going.

The other girls are giggling like crazy at all the different risqué booths offering everything from motorcycle insurance to low-cost piercings. Johanna even jokes about wanting to go get her eyebrow done like Peeta and Gale, to which Prim responds with fierce declarations about sanitation and life-threatening illnesses brought on by substandard piercings. I manage to tune it all out for a while, but the more time I spend in this crowd the more anxious I get. So when I spot a cheesy theme-park like game involving a gun and a few squirrels I veer from the pack to check it out.

So here I stand now with some fake plastic gun in my grip, having just handed over four dollars to the snaggle-toothed game master, breathing in deeply as I take in the game in front of me. The gun apparently dispenses pressurized water that will knock over the various little plastic woodland creatures that pop in and out of the trees and bushes on the wall across from me. The more I can knock down the better the prize I can get. I know it's a far cry from the woods I hunt in with my more realistic weapon, but it gives me more peace than I could have hoped for during all the chaos of the crowd around me. I lift the plastic gun up to eye level and take aim, letting out a breath as I drown out all the noise around me. I lock my eyes on the unfortunate little plastic fox that's just peaked out from behind a tree, a rare find in a real hunt.

I'm just pulling the trigger when a pair of hands sneaks their way around my waist and a gravelly male voice says, "Too high."

I jump, and the first of my five allotted shots goes wildly to the right but still manages to hit a squirrel that's 'running' from one tree to another.

I wheel around to find myself in Gale's arms, his wide grin burning me like hot steel.

"Damn you, Gale Hawthorne," I shout, shoving him away from me with one hand while still clutching the plastic gun in the other.

"Hey," he says, holding his hands up defensively, "at least you hit something. You weren't going to get anything with that shot."

I huff and turn away from him, taking aim at the same fox again. "I would have. So you cost me 30 points."

I'm pulling back the trigger a second time when a voice says, "I thought she did bows and arrows."

_Peeta_.

The water misses the fox my a good four inches, and this time I'm not lucky enough to hit something else by accident.

"She _is_," Gale says in a tone that tells me he's grinning ear to ear now, encouraged by my failure.

I refuse to turn around and acknowledge either of them. Now that I know there's an audience I'm not about to give Gale any more ammo with which to embarrass me. I finally pick off the fox I'd been aiming at, another squirrel and, surprisingly, the elusive bear. When all is said and done I earn a medium-level prize. It takes me a minute to pick one out, but once I see it, I know it's what I need to get. The game master gives me a surprised look but takes it down and hands me the cheap, stuffed orange cat which I promptly hand to Prim.

Her beaming smile makes the teasing from Gale worth it.

Finnick slaps me on the shoulder, looking vaguely impressed. "Good shooting," he says. "You that good in real life?"

"Better," Peeta says, surprising me. "Unbeatable with a bow and arrow. She practically taught that part of gym class in high school."

I'm stunned by this sudden insight into Peeta's history with me. _Had_ he been in my gym class? I can't remember much of anyone who was in my gym class, except that none of my friends had been in it—except Johanna.

"Oh yeah," Johanna says, sounding bored. "I think I remember that." Then she says, "Why are you guys dressed like that?"

Finnick and Gale are both wearing jackets with the hoods pulled up over their heads, obscuring their faces. Peeta has on a teal slouched beanie with a pair of black sunglasses on and Rory's got on a baseball cap with the bill pulled down low over his face. They give each other weird sort of sheepish glances before they look at us.

"We, uh..." Rory says. "We got sort of ambushed when we first came out."

"That's why we're so late," Peeta interjects hurriedly. I think he's looking at me based on the tilt of his head, but his glasses completely obscure his face. "We had to go back and get incognito before we could come out again."

"And I don't think the 'incognito' thing is really working all that well," Finnick says, glancing back behind him. A small cluster of girls has gathered and a few of them are staring and pointing. One is even so brave as to gesture excitedly in our direction and I think I hear a few arguments about who's going to go ask for a picture.

"Let's get out of here," Gale says, his eyes widening. "We're freaking Marshall out anyway with this."

I look around for a few seconds until I see the hulking figure of Marshall lurking a few feet away from us. I'm impressed that he's managed to blend in so well in the crowd, what with him cutting such a large and intimidating figure. But I supposed that's an important part of being a bodyguard, being able to blend in like that even when you could probably lift five of these punks wandering around over your shoulder and haul them to the gates without issue.

"I'm surprised they let you out here at all," Prim says thoughtfully. "Do they usually let bands go out into crowds like this?"

"Not big name bands that get mauled by teeny-boppers like the Jonas Brothers or something," Rory says with a shrug. "But guys like us that are just starting to get noticed...we get a little more freedom as long as we stay under the radar."

"I'd like to go see some of the other bands," Madge says excitedly. "Can we go see?"

"Sure," Gale says with an indulgent smile. He turns to Marshall, who's still standing by and watching us and the surroundings closely. Gale gives his head a little twitch toward the stages, silently letting the security guard know where we're heading. Marshall frowns for a moment, eyeing the large crowd in front of the stages with a sour look, but finally gives Gale a reluctant nod.

We follow the guys, and I'm expecting us to have to go through the crowd, but instead they lead us around the outside. Toward the front of the stage is a gated area blocked off for other bands to watch the performances. Gale pulls down his hood to greet the man standing at the entrance. He nods the boys in but stops us girls.

"Bands only," he says firmly, giving us a scathing look. "No groupies."

"Hey!" Peeta says, stepping up and taking me by the arm and leading me past the gate guard. "They're with us. Our _girlfriends_," he says as the man gives him a skeptical look. He looks like he's going to be combative with Peeta, but goes ahead and lets us through.

"Sorry about that," Peeta says, releasing my arm. "I wasn't sure how much trouble he was going to give us."

"Oh," I say, caught off-guard by it all. "Uh...that's ok."

"You should probably hold her hand though," Madge says suggestively, "Or we might get kicked out for lying."

Peeta laughs awkwardly but does reach over and take my hand. He looks at my eyes as if he's trying to read me closely. "Is this ok?" he asks softly.

I'm well aware of the heat radiating from Peeta's hand through my body as I say, "Sure." I glance quickly at Prim, who's looking at me quizzically as her eyes dart back and forth between me and Peeta. "But just for show," I add quickly.

I think Peeta looks a little hurt by this for a second, but then he's all reassuring smiles. "Of course," he says sweetly. "Understood."

A flamboyant group comes on stage, their garb similar to what I'd seen the prep trio wearing. The outfits are all severe and alien in shape and cuts, their hair and skin colored all different colors of the rainbow as they smile and beam at the crowd. But saying they look like the prep trio is a little too soft. The prep trio are like a pack of over-groomed pups. These guys look like a quad of sleek, elegant, lurid cats. The dark-haired girl who's holding the bass guitar looks like she'd kill anyone who got too close. The girl stepping up to the microphone looks like your typical blonde high school queen, but she looks like she'd _actually_ stab you in the back if you crossed her. The boy on guitar and the one on drums are handsome but remind me of snakes.

"Oh no," Gale mutters. "Let's go to the other stage."

"Why?" Johanna demands. "What's wrong?"

"That's Operate Alive'," Finnick mutters. "Our sworn enemy."

"Sworn enemy?" Johanna asks with a cackle. "A little high school?"

"No," Rory says in a surprisingly serious voice. "Glimmer, Cato, Marvel and Clove are four of the most vile creatures in the world."

"They're also from Panem," Peeta explains. "And they've made it their personal mission to kick us out of the music business."

"'_Too many fish from the same pond never works_,'" Gale says in a voice I know means he's quoting one of them. "'_And we intend to be the ones to survive the move to a big pond_.'"

Finnick snorts. "Shows how that's working out for them. We're neck in neck."

"They're right, though," Peeta says quietly. "One of us is going to get knocked out of the ring sooner or later."

"Well," Gale says gruffly. "I don't intend for it to be us. Come on," he says, pulling Madge back to the gated area's entrance. "I'm not staying around for this."

Peeta gives me what I think is a regretful look and drops my hand, but not before I think I feel the brush of his thumb over the back of my hand. I feel the loss of the warmth immediately in my bones and almost reach to take it back. But I can feel Prim's eyes on me, watching us closely. So I plunge my hands into my pockets to hold in the temptation.

"If we're lucky," Rory says bitterly while looking pointedly at Gale, "we can get out of this place before we get swamped by any crazy fan girls."

"Shit!" Gale exclaims, pulling his hood back up. He's forgotten to pull it back up to disguise himself. "Maybe no one saw."

"Those fan girls followed us," Prim says quietly, nodding her head toward a group of girls I recognize from over by the shooting game earlier.

"Maybe they'll leave us alone," Rory says hopefully as we leave the gated area, "and understand that we're tired and with you guys and they won't bother."

"Yup," says Johanna sourly. "I don't think that's happening tonight."

One of the girls has broken off from the group and is approaching us, eyes bright with excitement. I can see she's clutching a smart phone in her hand and I know what she's about to ask.

"You're Misery's Fortune, right?" she asks. She's annoyingly pretty for someone who looks like she just turned eighteen. She's all curves, which she isn't hesitating to show off in a too-short cami and hot-shorts, and her long bleached hair is straight as a pin. She doesn't give the boys a chance to respond, just thrusts her camera into Prim's hands as she says, "Can I get a picture with you guys? You don't mind taking it, do you?" She directs this last bit at Prim, who's staring at the girl with a look of confusion. Prim looks like she wants to tell the girl 'no,' but she dutifully takes the phone from her.

I can see Johanna step up to say what I'm sure will be something along the lines of 'no, you dumb bitch' and 'get the fuck out of here' when Peeta speaks up and says, "Sure."

I turn and can't help but give him a glare as the blonde claps her hands in glee. It's hard to tell under the heavy eyeliner and mascara, but I think her eyes light up with delight. "Omigawd, for real? I told my friends you'd say yes, you guys are just too cool not to. But they were chickens."

So the girl moves to stand between Finnick and Peeta with Gale and Rory on either end. Neither Finnick or Peeta make a move to get in close but the girl immediately throws her arms around their waists and pulls them into an embrace on either side of her. Her smile looks too white next to her too-tan skin as she beams at Prim, who's snapping a quick picture. But as Prim goes to put the phone down and hand it back to the girl, she says, "Wait! Get one more." So Prim lifts the phone to take one more picture and, to my horror, the girl leans over and gives Peeta a kiss on the cheek. And she's looking right at me as she does it.

I'm fuming. I have half a mind to go over there and claw the girl's eyes out. What the hell? I mean, she just met the guys three seconds ago and she thinks she gets to put her hands on them like that, can _kiss_ Peeta? I mean for fuck's sake, I'm still terrified to brush up against him let alone put my lips anywhere on him. Not that I want to, I mean, what with the 'no boys on this trip' thing. But still, what the hell? Judging by the look she's giving me now, I know she saw me holding his hand just a few minutes ago, which only pisses me off worse.

"Okay!" Johanna says, stomping up and seizing the girl's upper arm. She drags the girl away from the Finnick and Peeta, whose cheeks have gone a flaming shade of red. "Time for you to go now."

"Get your fucking hands off me," the girl spits, shoving Johanna off her. "What are you, their security?"

And then suddenly the _real _security, Marshall, is at our sides, stepping between us and the girl, who Johanna has just thrust away from the group. Marshall doesn't acknowledge the girl, instead facing us as he says, "Time to go."

He ushers us quickly through the crowd, parting the sea of people with his bulk. No one says anything as we follow Marshall obediently but I can hear the group of girls behind us hissing in a mix of excited discussion of the girl's pictures with the band and furious statements I'm sure refer to Johanna. I can feel the anger simmering in an uncomfortable lump in my stomach, mixing with other emotions I'm not usually subject to. I plan to just wait it out and let it melt away with another glass or two of the champagne I know will be waiting in the car for us. But I can tell by the way Johanna's stomping next to me that she's not going to let it go.

And she doesn't. As soon as Marshall shuts the compact limo's door behind us Johanna wheels around, glaring at the boys. "What the hell guys!" she yells in a tone far too loud for such a compact space. "Do you let just any floozie just walk up to you and take a picture and put her lips all over you?"

"I don't think it was _all over_ me," Peeta grumbles as he slides his sunglasses off his face. The rest of the boys are also peeling away their hoodies and baseball caps, looking shamefaced under Johanna's scrutiny.

"That's sure as hell what it looked like," Johanna retorts hotly. "I mean, I don't see other rock stars letting girls get all up on them."

"Depends on the rock star," Gale says abruptly, a small smile on his face.

"Don't you dare say another word, Gale Hawthorne," Madge says fiercely as she crosses her arms. "You'd do best to sit there and look as innocent as possible."

Gale gives her a sideways glance of alarm but does sit back in his chair and lean his head back, a scowl seemingly etched permanently on his face.

"What's it matter to you anyway, Madge?" Finnick asks coolly. "It's not like it was Gale or anything. It was Peeta. All the girls like Peeta." Finnick gives Peeta a teasing look as he says, "Must be something about that baby face."

"Yeah, well," Johanna says ardently, "I don't think Katniss was a big fan of seeing some girl kissing on him."

No.

Oh no.

I'm going to _kill_ Johanna Mason.

"I don't care if some girl kisses him," I say with a slightly hysterical laugh. "Why would I care? Kiss away!"

I can't look at him. I can't look at any of them, not Johanna's knowing smirk or Gale's curious stare. And I certainly can't meet the gaze raising the hairs on the back of my neck, the gaze I know belongs to Peeta. What must he be thinking? Thanks to Johanna, I look like some silly fan girl who wants to get in his pants. Which, if I'm being honest, I had been last night.

My statement is followed by one of the most awkward and uncomfortable silences of my life. I feel like I can hear everyone scrambling around in their heads trying to come up with something to say to cover up or move on from the suddenly awkward atmosphere Johanna and I have just dredged up.

"So," says Prim in her most chipper voice. "Since we can't take you guys out in public, what are we doing tonight?"

And I've never loved my sister more than right now, because everyone immediately launches into discussion and debate and my embarrassment is temporarily forgotten.

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

Hey guys! As I'd hoped, this update was able to come a little early :)

Again, thanks to Court for betaing. Somehow she always seems to know what I'm trying to say, even if I can't find the right word to say it with.

Follow me on tumblr, simplyabbeycat!

Just a funny fact too, I've actually seen one of those I 3 Vagina booths at a concert! Interested? You can see the merch and stuff at ilovevagina . com I couldn't make this shit up if I wanted to :)

I'm hoping for another update on Monday and then back to our normal Friday schedule until further notice, but hopefully I can seek those early updates in more often when life slows down a little bit. As much as I'd like to work on my FF all day...well, I _do_ have to have a day job...real life sucks.

Thanks for all the love-I'm in awe of how much you guys have liked this!

See you guys Monday!


	6. Chapter 6

Seize Me

Chapter 6

_"And I can rock it right _

_'til the end of rolling sight. _

_So come on pretty baby if you like to cut loose, _

_Well you kick it like _

_High heel, leather boots. _

_Baby Bee-High Heel Leather Boots_

We'd gotten back to the hotel around five, and the boys had ardently pleaded for a small nap, which we'd agreed to. But before any of us are ready, the suite's phone rings somewhere near my head at a quarter after seven. I ignore it for a while, hoping one of the sleeping girls in the bedroom will get it. I'd fallen asleep on the couch in the living area about 45 minutes ago after flipping through channels for over an hour so they've had much more snooze time than I have. Sleep had eluded me as my mind had raced over and over through my different reactions to Peeta. I'd been convinced the sooner I sorted everything out the sooner I'd be able to move on and forget about him. But no, I'd just fallen asleep mid-channel change and I'm now waking up to find I'm lying in a pile of my own drool having made no progress on sorting through anything.

The phone finally stops ringing, and I think I'm going to get out of having to wake up. But when it starts ringing again I know I'm going to have to be the one to answer it. I don't bother opening my eyes, I just lift my hand and fumble around at the table near my head. After a few failed attempts I finally manage to get my slow-with-sleep-fingers to curve around the phone.

I don't even get out a bleary 'hello' when a voice says far too loudly, "We're going out." It's Finnick, talking a million miles a minute and leaving me no time to say anything. "Dinner, then club. So get cleaned up." Then the phone abruptly goes dead. I crack my eyes open to stare at the receiver in my hand, debating on not passing on the message and squeezing in 30 minutes more of sleep before the boys come charging over, but I know I'll regret it later.

Of course, when I go wake everyone else up with the news they're all thrilled, hopping out of bed like happy little bunnies in their glee. Prim's more excited than the rest of us, what with clubs being something she's just now gained access to. Johanna's raving about having a chance to cut loose tonight and dance in a dark club with random strangers, her usual tradition of unwinding at the end of long work weeks. Madge is more subdued, which is a relief for me, what with her beings so uncharacteristically enthusiastic and chipper lately from seeing Gale. But I know I still won't have my fellow wallflower at my side tonight by the way her eyes are shining with excitement.

So we're quickly getting dressed and Johanna and Prim are redoing everyone's makeup and hair. Johanna slips into a too-short red dress with capped sleeves and a surprisingly modest neckline. However, when paired with her woman-gladiator boots, you completely forget about the modest neckline. Prim is back in some cute little dress, pink this time, and a set of black pumps. Madge has pulled out her LBD, which surprises me because I didn't even know she _had_ a little black dress. It seems a little reserved compared to the other girls and I'm relieved, knowing that if Madge is wearing something simple I can get away with it too. But then she starts pulling on too much jewelry and slips on a pair of boots that rival Johanna's.

Shit.

So I know I'm screwed in the modesty department. The others have pulled out nearly everything in my suitcase and laid it all over the bed. They've argued a few times over different things while I've sat miserably in the corner on a chair after, having been placed here by Johanna after several attempts to leave the room before they could get me in something. But finally they've decided I will stay in the shorts I'm already wearing, sans tights, and will wear the black corset top Johanna had wanted me to wear earlier today.

Yeah. _Not_ happening.

I'm making a beeline for the door when Johanna seizes me from behind and throws me into the bathroom with the bundle of clothes she's handed me. The door slams shut behind me, and I stare at it incredulously. How could _Madge_ and _Prim_ do this to me? Johanna I understand; she's always begging me to wear something more exciting whenever we go out. But Prim knows how uncomfortable I am in stuff like this and Madge usually feels the same way I do. I'm furious with them and I'm more than willing to sit here in this bathroom with the door locked until they're all forced to leave without me. I'm reaching to lock the door when it flies open to reveal Prim standing on the other side with my red leather jacket.

"Please," she says, eyes wide. "Please just...just try it on with the jacket. You'll look great."

"Prim," I groan. "No."

Prim throws the jacket at my arms, forcing me to catch it. She then crosses her arms and gives me her most stern look as she says, "You will put that on and come out with us, Katniss. You're being ridiculous. I wouldn't put you in something you wouldn't look good in. Here," she adds as an afterthought, throwing a pair of black ankle boots with obscenely high heels at me too. "Put these with it." And then she slams the door in my face again.

Un-fucking-believable.

I throw the jacket and pumps with rest of the clothes I've left piled on the kitchen sink. I stare at them dejectedly, itching at my thigh as I do. Damn, these tights are getting itchy. I've been wearing them all day, not having changed since I fell asleep on the couch. Sighing, I strip off the shirt and shorts I'm wearing to take off the lacy tights that are making my skin crawl now. I'm left standing in the bathroom in my underwear, cursing my friends. I pull the shorts back on with a groan, then lift up the corset-type top they've thrust at me. As I examine it I admit to myself that it's not really a corset, it's just sort of shaped like one. It's more of a form-fitting tube top with a set of black laces that run up the front and tie in a bow at the top of the shirt—actually the opposite of a real corset.

Rolling my eyes, I slide it on. It's not as immodest as I thought it'd be. With the strapless bra I'm wearing it leaves my shoulders bare, and at the top, a bit of my breasts show seductively but there's no real cleavage so it keeps just on the opposite side of slutty. I realize that my sister's right—it's not as bad as I'd thought it'd be. I'm still not sure if it's something I'm comfortable wearing and I'm contemplating going out and demanding a different shirt when I hear masculine voices outside the bathroom door. Through the frosted glass walls that separate the bathroom from the bedroom I can see four new, very masculine bodies come into the bedroom.

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit_. I couldn't go out there now even if I wanted to. Not with them all there and me in this.

"Katniss?" calls Madge outside the door in a falsely sweet voice. "Are you almost done?"

"I need a new shirt," I demand shrilly. _Shit shit shit shit shit..._

"You're not getting one." Madge's voice is sing-song with a hint of malice in it. "So just put on the clothes and get out here."

"I'm not coming then," I say, fully aware of how childish I sound.

Then comes a different voice. "Katniss." _Shit_. It's Peeta. "I'm sure you look fine. But we really need to go to make these reservations. And we're not leaving you behind."

"You'll have to," I say angrily, infuriated they've brought in Peeta to try and whittle me out.

"Katniss!" comes a mild roar. This time it's Gale. "You're coming with us. I will call hotel security up here to unlock that door and pull you out of there in your underwear if I have to. Now _come_. _On_."

"Fuck!" I yell in exasperation. I claw at my red jacket and throw it on, ignoring the part of me that knows it's the perfect thing to tone the top down and that Prim had been completely right. I look at what Johanna and Prim have done to my hair and face and decide to be spiteful. I wipe off the majority of the eye shadow Johanna put on, toning it down significantly without removing it altogether. I yank out the intricate style Prim has woven into it and quickly wrap it up into my usual shoulder braid. I hastily pull on the shoes Prim's given me. I again ignore what a good selection this had been on Prim's part and jerk open the bathroom door.

"There," I scowl at the seven impatient people standing waiting for me. "I'm done, okay?"

The fact that everyone's hiding smiles raises my anger to a whole new level. I'm trying to work up something really vile to say to them when Peeta steps up, his smile sweet and genuine.

"See?" he says mildly. "I told you that you'd look great."

"You'd said it would be 'fine' actually," Johanna says with a smirk.

"Well," Peeta retorts with a harmless scowl in her direction, "She's better than fine. Great." He turns back to me and gives me a shy smile as he says, "Really. You shouldn't worry so much."

And I can't help noticing the gleam of the tongue ring in his mouth as he says it.

_Shit_.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Madge asks, changing the subject just in time for me to avoid having to say anything to Peeta in response. "Going out in public I mean."

"Hey," Gale says with a laugh. "The big-time celebrities go out in public all the time. We'll be fine. The reservation is set in one of their more private areas and the club will be so dark that no one will recognize us."

Finnick laughs dryly. "It's not like we're Brad Pitt or anything."

"Could have fooled me," Johanna mutters under her breath with a very un-Johanna silly smile.

I don't think Finnick heard her and if he did, I appreciate him not acknowledging it. Some small part of me is still hoping Johanna has more sense than to get involved with one of these boys on the tour.

And then I remember how hard of a time _I'm_ having with it.

I'm relieved when I don't end up standing next to Peeta on the elevator, relaxing when I realize I won't have to fight the draw between us in such cramped quarters with everyone else. I'm not so lucky in the limo, though. He somehow ends up sitting next to me—despite the fact Johanna and Madge had been between us in line to get in—and every time our knees accidentally brush I have to fight to keep from jumping. I make a point to sit down almost last at dinner, hoping to have a temporary reprieve from him. But Johanna makes some stupid little comment about drafts from the air vents to get Peeta to switch spots with her so she can sit next to Finnick—which puts Peeta immediately next to me.

Our knees don't brush during dinner, but his hand occasionally meets mine when he collects all our menus for the waitress and when I reach for my glass as he's reaching for a second roll. Our hands jump away from each other as if an electric shock has passed between us every time our skin meets. I pray that no one else at the table notices it, but I think Prim's eyes are on us more than they're on anyone else at the table. Prim's too perceptive for my well-being and I pray to God she doesn't think anything is going on between us so quickly. The last thing I need is my baby sister thinking I'm using this trip to get laid.

I don't even remember what I ordered and I sure don't remember if it was any good. I'm nervous and fidgety, not sure what's safe to do in front of her and what's not. My head is spinning as I add my sister's scrutiny to the list of things to ponder over as I'm trying to fall asleep. I do know I drink one too many glasses of wine and I'm feeling a bit sloshed by the end of dinner. For a split moment I take a second to consider the amount of alcohol I've consumed already during this trip in an attempt to dull all the sharp edges Peeta is bringing to my life. For someone I never noticed in high school I'm sure turning into an alcoholic just to be able to concentrate in his presence. And I just pray my nerves, and my liver, can make it through this tour.

* * *

The club is thrumming around us and I can feel all the vivacious energy of the environment and the people in it swirling around me. Johanna and Prim are totally in their element, Johanna giving lustful eyes to every cute guy that walks by and Prim holding meaningless conversation with whatever guy is buying her next drink. Normally Madge is my wing-woman on nights like tonight, she and I sulking in a corner and watching the rest of the people in the club at like felines in heat. But tonight Madge only has eyes for Gale, who's been getting her liquored up decently for the last hour in the club in addition to all the wine she'd drank at the restaurant. So I'm left alone to make conversation with Finnick, Peeta and Rory.

Yeah. Right.

Finnick and Rory are talking about something related to football, which I'm totally tuning out. Peeta doesn't seem much interested in that topic of conversation either so he's trying to make conversation with me. I give a few one-worded answers until he understands that I'm not interested in talking. I regret it immediately when his face takes on a hurt expression for half a second, but then he's all smiles and I remember why I can't talk to him. He's too smooth, too easy to talk to. And if I look at his eyes, in the sexual atmosphere of this club, I'm a goner.

Johanna turns to the group suddenly, her eyes wild with excitement. Clubs like this that play songs heavy on the bass are completely her scene, the place she can thrive without judgment. I'm always caught off guard by this Johanna, the one who lets herself go in the thrill and the music. She loses none of her hard exterior, but her aura of being unapproachable dims a little bit when she can let go in the music. A few guys manage to catch her interest from time to time, and she'll flirt with them in her off-putting way that some guys just seem to pant over. But just when she realizes she may be looking too interested in the guy, she shoots Finnick a quick look to see if he's noticed then promptly sends the guy on his way. She's just done that now and I'm expecting her to say something scathing about the guy's appearance when she turns straight to Finnick to address him selectively.

"Dance with me," she says to Finnick, holding out her hand to him.

Finnick chuckles and takes her hand, mildly surprising me. "Alright," he says, throwing back the last of his drink. He's letting Johanna drag him from our booth when he turns to us and says, "You guys coming?"

"Yeah," says Gale, pushing Madge along the booth. "Come on," he says with a wicked smile as he manages to shove her completely out of the booth. Madge rolls her eyes but gives no other protests, not that I'm sure she could. She stumbles a little and Gale has to support her, pulling her in close and kissing her sweetly on the neck. I know he's playing at trying to get her tipsy enough to go have sex somewhere secluded before we have to go back to the club, but I'm not sure that he hasn't overdone it on getting her drunk. He may have over-shot drunk and hit her 'holy crap, I can't feel my legs' stage that's her warning sign for the 'one more drink and I'm going to hurl' part—which I learned through years of hair holding and back rubbing after just a few too crazy of parties.

I see Rory giving Prim a shy look and I know he's going to ask her to go dance too. But before he can work up the never Prim shoots down the rest of her glass then turns to look at him expectantly. "I'm not getting left behind," she says in response to his bewildered face. She yanks him out of the booth so fast I think his feet leave the ground and flap behind him like a windsock. He gives me and Peeta a bewildered but pleased look as they disappear into the throng of people.

"Don't worry about me!" I call after them sarcastically. "I'll stay here and guard the drinks."

"Oh no you're not," Peeta says. He quickly throws back what's left in his glass then turns to me and says, "We're not getting left behind here while everyone else is off having a good time."

"Ha!" I say, giving him a firm stare. "You go enjoy yourself. I don't dance."

"Yeah," Peeta says thoughtfully, tipping his head to the side in a way I'm starting to think is his trademark. "I noticed all your friends were dancing and having a good time at our show. You didn't like the music?"

I can feel a blush rising up in my cheeks when he says this. "No!" I hurriedly protest. "It's not that. That kind of music is hard to dance to, you know?"

"You danced at our first show." He points this out calmly but I know he's searching, trying to figure something out.

"Yeah, well," I say slowly, at a loss for words. "That was different. I just..I just don't dance. Not usually. And definitely not places like here." I add this last bit in the hopes that he will drop the subject completely.

"Don't..." Peeta begins to ask, "...or can't?"

I roll my eyes and look down at my drink, refusing to meet his eyes. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," Peeta says matter-of-factly. "_Don't_ can be fixed by a few more of these." He lifts up my glass and shakes it, making the ice cubes clatter around.

"Then I can't," I say, hoping this will end the conversation and send him scuttling away.

"Well," Peeta says with a mischievous smile. "That changes things."

I whip my head up sharply to look at him now, my blood going cold as I realize what he thinks he's going to do. He tilts the contents of my glass, sans ice, down his throat and I take a moment to enjoy the chiseled corners of his jaw and the muscles in his neck as he tips his head back to get the last few drops. Then his head snaps back down and he sets the glass down heavily on the table. And then I get about half a second to register the impish glimmer in his eyes before he seizes me by the hand and drags me from the booth.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demand while trying to pull my arm from his grip. I quickly learn it's futile; his grip is like iron around my wrist. Not painful, but certainly not weak enough to let me go.

"I'm going to teach you how to dance," Peeta says simply. He's managed to get me out of the booth now and he's dragging me across the club's seating area. I try to dig my heels in, but it's no use. He just lets me stumble along behind him like a puppet in the wind as he winds through the crowd of bodies that gets more and more dense the closer we get to the music.

It's not until we're in the middle of the writhing throng of dancers that he stops. He gives my arm a tug and pulls me up next to him.

"I'm _not_ dancing," I yell over the music, still trying to pull my wrist from his grasp.

Instead of letting go, Peeta spins me so my back is to him. He lets go of my wrist but before I can get away from him, he puts his hands on my hips and pulls me flush up against his body.

"I saw you dancing last night at that bar where you guys met up with us," he says, having to speak directly into my ear to be heard over the music. It sends chills down my spine and I have to make a conscious effort to not sink back into him. His body is hard behind me, all muscle and man. But I can also feel the heat and softness of it too as it molds around me. "You were moving your hips to the bass." I swear I can hear the shake of nerves in his voice, but I can't be sure over the pounding of the music around us. "The bass is tied to the drums, which is the foundation of a song. So start with the beat."

His hands at my hips start to direct them to the left and right in time with the beat of the music. He moves his hips with mine, guiding me in the movements. I try to fight him for a moment, but he says something I can't make out and his breath raises hairs on the back of my neck as he speaks. I feel a shudder run through my body and I relax into him subconsciously, letting his hands and hips sway me with the music.

"See?" he says, a laugh in his voice. He lets go of my waist with one hand to capture one of my hands, which have been hanging limply at my side, in his before returning it back to my hip. He does the same with my other hand so both my hands are trapped under his at my hips. "If you can find the beat, you can dance."

I'm torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to move one of my hands up his arms to his shoulders and then to his hair, to wind my hands into his locks and find out just how soft they'd be under my fingers. I didn't want this, not when this trip is so important for Prim. I'd told myself I wasn't going to let my sexual fantasies take away from me spending this time with Prim and making sure she enjoyed herself. But it was hard to remember that with Peeta's warm breath playing at the sensitive bit of skin where my neck meets my shoulder, with his hips coaxing mine side to side.

And then he spins me around, his eyes locked on mine in a way that takes my breath away. His face is unreadable in the flashing lights of the club's dance floor but I think he's breathing hard as he stares at me. The air is stirred by the spin he'd turned me in and I'm hit again with the smell of cinnamon, dill and oil paints that seems to forever accompany him. I wonder for the second time how he gets to smell like that, if it's some sort of new perfume or if he spends all his time around those things. I remember Madge saying his family owns the bakery in town, so I suppose it makes sense that he'd smell like the cinnamon and dill. But I can't fathom how he'd get to smell like oil paints. Hell, I don't even know how I know what oil paints smell like. I make a mental note to ask him when we're not having to shout over music just to say simple things.

But I know I'll forget the mental note, because as I'm making it his eyes meet mine. His normally icy blue eyes are dark in the club lights. He's wearing a shy smile now, a small peak at his insecurities. Normally I think I'd hate that, the look of vulnerability I see when I look at him now. But something stirs inside me...attraction. Maybe it's because I know he does have confidence most times, but apparently with me, he loses all of it. And it's endearing somehow in a way I'd never have expected. I've never been one to fawn over wounded creatures. But Peeta seems to bring out that part of me, a part I didn't know existed.

But then something more predatory glints in his eyes and he says, "You're biting your lip."

I gasp, releasing my bottom lip in the process. "I'm sorry," I say without thinking, an automatic reaction for me now. My mother had always scolded me for that when I was younger, saying I'd ruin my lips.

"Don't be," he says with something I think might have been a growl. He's tilting his head down, bring his face closer to mine.

'_Kiss me!_' The sex-starved part of my brain screams. I try to pull away, the rational part of my mind digging her claws in, attempting to snatch me back to sanity. This close I can see how long his eyelashes are, how icy blue his eyes can be. The smell of him is overpowering me now, and I think my chest must be heaving as my heart and lungs start racing. '_Kiss me!_'

"You just shouldn't bite your lip like that, though," he says darkly, his breath tickling my face as he says it. I can smell the sweet smell of rum on his breath and I can't stop wondering if I would be able to taste it on my tongue. "Not unless you—"

"Katniss!" calls Prim, cutting Peeta off as she comes stumbling toward me through the last few people separating me from her. I quickly step back from Peeta as I shove at his chest to further the distance between us, my cheeks blazing.

"Prim!" I squeak nervously, hoping the squeak isn't noticeable over the pounding music.

Prim looks back and forth between me and Peeta for a second with a quizzical look, but to my relief all she does is shake her head and press her lips to my ear as she says, "Madge is sick."

"What?" I ask, horrified. "What do you mean?"

"She drank too much," Prim yells over a particularly loud bit of music. "We're taking her home. Do you want to come with or do you want to stay?"

I'm about to respond when Peeta cuts in, "No." He gives me a look I can't place then says, "We'll come with you."

I'm almost weak in the knees with relief. I'd been almost certain Peeta would try to keep me here, would try to finish what had just almost happened. But instead he pushes me through the crowd, guiding me with a firm hand on my back as if he's as eager to get away as I am. We follow Prim through the crowd to find Johanna, Rory and Finnick waiting for us.

"Gale's with Madge outside," Johanna says with a roll of her eyes. "We figure since he's the one who got her so drunk, he can be the one to take care of her."

Rory shakes his head with a small grin. "That plan backfired on him, didn't it?"

Prim groans, turning to lead us to the front door. "Come on," she says glumly. "We'd better go."

Luckily, Madge doesn't puke once in the car, even though Gale's got a small trash can for her. In fact, she manages to make it all the way to the hotel front doors before puking in one of the bushes.

"Oh good god," Johanna says with a growl. "Let's just get her inside before any paparazzi show up." Madge swears swiftly but doesn't fight us as we push her as a collective group though the hotel doors.

We're without incident the whole elevator ride up, and Madge is coherent enough now to start profusely apologizing. All the boys but Gale bid us good night as we reach our rooms, and I think Peeta gives me one last look before closing the door behind them, which I choose to ignore in light of my best friend hurling for third time tonight, this time into the provided trash can. Johanna flatly refuses to let Madge sleep in the bed with her tonight, so Gale sets up Madge on the couch in the front room and pulls up a bed of blankets on the ground next to the couch to stay with her. He refuses to call down for a cot, saying he'll be fine, but I call down to the front desk for him anyway. I end up pretty much forcing him onto the cot, then stumble into the bedroom to get myself settled in.

Prim and Johanna are already in bed, Johanna snoring softly as she sprawls out indulgently over the entire bed she has to herself tonight. I find a new set of pajamas in the suitcase and pull them on in the bathroom. A quick look in the mirror tells me my hasty braid from earlier tonight didn't stand up to the evening, so disheveled you can barely tell it even started out as a braid. I quickly redo it, praying it hadn't looked like that for very long and especially not at the club. I grab a quick glass of water to take to bed with me, an old habit from when Prim had nightmares after Dad died, when she'd wake up hiccupping from crying and the only thing that could ever make it stop was a long drink of water. I set it on the nightstand on her side of the big bed then climb in next to her.

"You missed all the drama earlier," Prim says nonchalantly as my weight sinks the bed next to her. "I think Johanna's head spun around about five times."

"What happened?" I ask absentmindedly, winding my braid into a knot at the back of my head. Johanna having a spaz moment is nothing new, especially when alcohol is involved.

"They ran into some girl named Annie," Prim says, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I guess she lived in Four with Finnick. They got to talking, catching up, you know? Right in the middle of Finnick dancing with Johanna. I've never seen Johanna look so upset. I guess he seemed really into her, more than he's been into Johanna."

"Really?" I ask, sliding a bobby pin into the knot to keep it in place for the night. My spirits are raised by this. Maybe this will teach Johanna that going after Finnick is a very bad idea.

"Yeah. I mean, eventually Annie had to go back to her friends so Johanna got Finnick's attention back. Well," Prim says with a snort, "Sort of. He'd kept looking around for Annie, trying to spot her. But I think Johanna said something that kind of put him off, because he finally stopped looking for her. But I think Johanna might have ruined her chances with him tonight."

"Good," I say firmly, falling back into the pillows. They're more plush than I thought they'd be, and I have to hide a moan of relief as I sink into them. "Maybe that will show her what a bad idea it would be to date a guy on this tour."

"You didn't have to leave with us, you know," Prim says softly as I pull the covers up over me. "You and Peeta looked like you were having fun."

"Yeah, well," I say grumpily. "You all left us alone. Who else was I supposed to dance with?"

"You don't dance," she says pointedly.

"He doesn't believe that apparently," I say with a groan.

"He likes you, you know," Prim says softly. "I remember him from when we were in school back in Twelve. He'd stare at you whenever we went to the bakery."

I sigh, throwing an arm over my head, trying to block out the connotations of what she's saying. "How is it everyone else knew this except me?"

I feel Prim shrug beside me in the darkness. "You never paid any attention. You were too busy taking care of me and Mom after Dad died." She's quiet for a moment, they says gently, "He came to the funeral, you know."

I turn to her now, surprised. I tuck one arm under me and rest my head on my hand so I can look at her squarely. "He did?"

"Yeah. He brought those cheese buns." I can hear her voice go wobbly with what I suspect are tears. "Those were the first thing you ate after Dad died, when you stopped eating for first five days. When I thought I was going to lose Mom _and_ you with Dad."

"Oh, Prim," I say softly, taking my sister in my arms. She's not crying, but I can feel the hurt she still carries sixteen years later. I can feel shame rise up in me as I confess, "I'd forgotten about that."

"You came around," she says simply, pulling away again out of my arms and I suspect she's a little embarrassed for having been caught so uncharacteristically sad. "And you still took care of me. You were like a ghost, though, which was almost worse than what Mom did."

I don't have anything to say, shocked by this. I had sunken into my own sort of depression after Dad died and Mom went nearly comatose. I hadn't been able to eat, hadn't been able to sleep. I'd just laid around when I wasn't taking care of Prim, unsure of how I was going to support my little sister and grieving mother without Dad. I remember the cheese buns now, the first thing that had smelled good to me in what had felt like ages. I hadn't known who'd brought them, though. I'd never really thought about it. I'd just eaten all twelve of them, feeling better with each bun I'd eaten, had felt them warm me from the inside out.

Prim's quiet for so long I think she's fallen asleep in my arms until she says, "I'll never be able to repay him for that. For being responsible for bringing you out of that."

I don't know how to respond to this bit of news; I'm overwhelmed by it really. As Prim says it, I can feel the connection now. The warmth brought by those cheese buns tied to the warmth I feel when Peeta looks at me in his way. But I wouldn't know how to tell Prim this even if I wanted to. So I don't say anything, I just let my thoughts swirl around me as I allow myself to succumb to the feel of the plush mattress beneath us.

And just as I'm starting to slip under, I hear Prim say, "It's ok to like him, Katniss. I'd like to see you happy."

And I can't think of anything to say to this either. So I let sleep take me into alternating nightmares of mine explosions and dreams of cheese buns and blue eyes.

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

Hey guys! I'm just full of surprises! I couldn't wait until Monday to post this, so I'm posting it a few days early! I plan to return to the normal Friday updates after this unless I can get some down time to work on the story more regularly.

Follow me on tumblr- simplyabbeycat. I'd love to hear from you guys! (It's a Saturday and I have to go put in some hours in the office, so you guys should probably entertain me with 'asks')

Thanks again to my amazing beta Court. I'm pretty blessed, not many people get such talented and wonderful betas!

Let me know what you think guys! I hope this chapter leaves you both frustrated and satisfied... :)


	7. Chapter 7

Seize Me

Chapter 7

_"If it's something that you want,_

_Darling you don't have to run,_

_You don't have to go_

_Just stay with me, baby stay with me."_

_Parachute-Kiss Me Slowly_

I knew something was up when Gale asked me to go get lunch with him. Alone. A part of me was relieved when he'd mentioned getting lunch together, telling everyone else we'd go just the two of us, if that was okay. We've been on the road with the boys for almost two weeks now, and the tension that seizes my body every time I'm in close quarters with Peeta is starting to wear on me. It's getting harder and harder to ignore him and my nerves are shot by the effort.

It should have been easy to ignore him, especially because he's been ignoring me too ever since the incident at the club that second night on tour with them. He's polite and will make casual conversation when required, but other than that, he's no more friendly toward me than Rory is. Actually, probably less so. So of course the idea of getting a reprieve from that during our four-day break in Charlotte is appealing. But the gleam in Gale's eye tells me he's going to harass me about something he can't say in front of everyone else.

He manages to lull me into a false sense of security during the car ride to the restaurant, never once broaching any other subject than home, our families and each other. It's easy being around Gale—it's like breathing. He's an extension of myself, almost as much a part of my heart as Prim. Prim, Madge and Gale. The trifecta in my world. At an earlier time in our lives—after the death of our dads—Gale and I had talked about running away together, escaping the responsibilities and familial duties that had tied us to Twelve.

Gale had even asked me to marry him during our sophomore year of high school, before Madge and he had gotten together. He'd asked me a second time in senior year after he and Madge had gotten into a big fight and broken up for a few months. And I'd seriously entertained the idea a few times. I still find myself entertaining it when my thoughts get away from me, especially when my loyalties to Madge have been temporarily compromised by a fight or something of the like. The scary thing is some part of me believes Gale would do it, that he would run away with me to a deserted forest and live off the land for the rest of our lives, romantically or not. So I always have to watch myself around him, keep my emotions in check when they get tremulous near him.

It's not like that today, though, and I'm relieved. With Peeta now in the mix, I don't know if I could stand Gale messing with my mind today too.

The restaurant Gale takes me to is a simple little Italian place with a menu full of meals I actually recognize as opposed to some of the fancier menus I've seen at the well-to-do restaurants the boys have been parading us to in order to show off. It doesn't take us long to order after the waitress deposits our drinks and then she's gone, leaving us alone again. I hope the conversation will continue along the easy vein Gale's been keeping to, praying I'd been wrong in my apprehension over coming to lunch with him today.

Yeah. I'd been fooling myself all right.

"So," Gale says to start. I have to stifle a groan. I know it's coming now, whatever it is he dragged me out here to say. "We need to talk about something."

"I gathered," I say slowly, playing with the straw on my drink. "Must be important for you not to be able to say it in front of anyone else."

Gale raises an eyebrow. "I didn't think you'd want anyone else to know about this conversation, Catnip. This is for your benefit, not mine."

I know I don't want to have this conversation. I know it. I don't know how to delay him, though. It keeps him from spewing out whatever is making him twitch nervously in his seat. My mouth goes dry, and I can't think of anything to say, so I lift my iced tea to my mouth partially to wet it and partially to give my mouth something to do.

"It's about Peeta," Gale says suddenly, cringing a little in anticipation of my reaction.

He couldn't have waited until I'd swallowed, apparently. I still have a mouthful of tea when he says it, and it takes all of my self-control to not spit it out all over the table in horror. I force myself to swallow, gasping as it goes down my throat roughly, burning the whole way down.

"Peeta?" I croak out. I clear my throat, eyes watering, then say, "What about him?"

"He likes you, Catnip," he says bluntly, shifting nervously again. "And if you don't like him, you need to stop leading him on."

I'm stunned. "Leading him...leading him on!" How dare he? "I'm not leading him on at all! I barely look at him."

"Oh please," Gale says with some amusement, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms as he stares me down. "You're not fooling anyone. The covert glances you're sneaking aren't as covert as you think they are."

I'm sure I look something akin to a fish out of water. I keep opening and closing my mouth, unsure how to reply to this. I hadn't thought anyone would have been able to notice. But if Gale has picked up on it, someone else surely has. Madge and Prim for certain—they're the two most observant people I have ever met. And while Johanna can sometimes be slow on the uptake, she's nowhere near as slow as Gale. It's a wonder they haven't all ganged up on me before now, Johanna especially taking pleasure in my discomfort.

Gale's face morphs into a small, stunned grin. "You like him, don't you?" he asks.

Shit.

"No!" I insist quickly. "No. I don't know if I even really like him just as a person. I mean, he's cute!" I say to Gale's skeptical expression. "But, I mean, like him? I've only known him for not even two weeks now."

"I didn't ask if you love him," Gale says with a snort. "I asked if you like him."

"I don't do either," I retort snappily, flopping my forehead down into my waiting hands, my elbows resting on the countertop. I bury my face in my fingers so I don't have to look at Gale. "And you know that."

"Yeah," Gale says with a dejected sigh. "I know, Catnip. But he's a good guy. And he's liked you for a while."

I spread my fingers and peer up at him quizzically. "I hadn't spent more than ten minutes around him before this tour," I say challengingly.

Gale rolls his eyes at me. "You are blind, aren't you?" he says sourly. "Do you remember when you came to visit me a few years ago in college and you stayed in the apartment with us?" I nod slowly, unsure where he's going with this. "Peeta was there. He was my roommate."

I know this, of course. Madge had told me at the beginning of the tour, pointing out all the times I'd probably seen him before this whole crazy thing. And I'm again reminded of how blind I'd had to have been to missed him. But then I hadn't really been looking all that closely. And somehow I don't think even if my dad had lived and everything had been perfect that I would have noticed him without the stage, without seeing him so confident. I'm almost certain he's never looked that way back home, and I wonder what his home life is like that made him so shy back in Twelve.

"After you left..." Gale continues, "he couldn't stop asking me about you. I could tell he was trying to be cool about it, trying to play it off like he was just asking about any other classmate from back home—"

"He probably was," I interject hotly. "He is a good guy. He'd ask after anyone."

"Not like this he wouldn't," Gale argues back. "He asked the usual questions too, but some of them were too personal for normal questions about a vague acquaintance. He'd ask about your mom and Prim, how things were going for you in college, how you were handling being away from them. If your dad's death was still wearing on you..." Gale shakes his head, raising his eyes to the ceiling in frustration. "It wasn't just that you'd caught his attention during that short stay in the apartment. He didn't just remember you from high school as one of my best friends. He's liked you for a long time, Katniss."

I can't handle this. I just can't. I let my face fall through my fingertips, and my forehead hits the table hard. I pull my arms over my head, burying myself as much as I can. I haven't felt this raw and vulnerable in a long time, not since our family fell apart over a decade ago. And all because Gale's telling me things I can't bear to hear.

A pair of cool fingers locks over one of my wrists, a thumb sliding gently over my heated skin soothingly. "Hey," says Gale lowly. "I didn't understand for a long time, Katniss. How you couldn't see Peeta staring at you back in highschool. Why you wouldn't let me love you all those years ago..."

I can hear the ghost of pain in his voice as he says this and I pull my arms tighter over my head, determined to block the sound out.

"I didn't understand," Gale continues, "until last night, when I talked to Prim."

I remember now them talking discreetly in Prim's and my current hotel bedroom, their guilty faces as I'd walked in and the way they'd abruptly changed the topic when I'd asked what they were conspiring about.

"What," I rasp out, "are you doing talking to Prim about this?"

"She's been worried about you," Gale says softly. "She's seen you with Peeta too, and she wonders why you won't do anything about it. Why you're purposefully holding back." Gale's working to pry my arms off my head now, trying to break me free and make me face him. I strain to fight him, but I'm slowly losing. "She told me what she'd told you a week or two ago. And how she wants you to be happy. She didn't understand why you still didn't go after Peeta when she gave you the go-ahead. But then we figured it out." He's gotten my arms off my head now but with the effort of keeping them both restrained, he can't lift my head up and force me to look at him.

"Katniss," he grumbles in a low, menacing tone. "Look at me, or I will embarrass you in this restaurant. And you know I'll do it."

"Damn it, Gale," I hiss. I throw my arms over my chest as I sit fully upright in my chair but still refuse to look at him. I lock my eyes on a cheap painting of a daisy on the restaurant wall, willing to burst it into flames. Willing anything to happen to get me out of this one-sided conversation with Gale. I'd even settle for Johanna bursting in and saying every crude thing she could possibly think of. But I'm disappointed when the restaurant stays quiet and there's nothing to stop Gale from continuing, from uttering the words that will break me.

"You can't keep hiding from love, Katniss." Gale says bluntly.

I'm so shocked by Gale's blatant and uncharacteristic spouting of the word 'love' that my mouth just hangs open and my whole body goes numb. Gale and heavy emotions don't go together. It makes the conversation almost comical and surreal now, and I can almost believe I'm dreaming this, that Gale is really on the other side of the hall between our rooms and I've had a little too much wine before bed.

"Oh, don't look so shocked," Gale says bitterly. "You and Madge both look at me like I've started singing Lady Gaga whenever I say that word."

"Because that word is just so...not Gale Hawthorne," I say, fighting a laugh as I recover. "Do you ever feel like you're going to spontaneously combust when you say it?"

Gale doesn't give me the satisfaction of a reply. He knows what I'm doing, knows I'm trying to steer the conversation away from myself. Instead he says, "I know it hurt when your dad died. I know how awful it was to watch how it killed a piece of your mom too with how much she'd loved him. Trust me, I lived through it too." I hear the faintest hint of a tremor in Gale's voice, one I only hear because I know him so well. "But you can't keep that from letting you move on with your life. Eventually you're going to end up feeling just as bad without ever having anyone as you would if you'd had someone and lost them."

I groan, leaning my head back into the plush dining chair and closing my eyes. "When did you get so philosophical?"

The waitress arrives, placing a ravioli-something in front of Gale and a Capellini Pomodoro for me. As if nothing earth-shattering is happening at this table, Gale graciously thanks our waitress with a kind smile and tells her everything looks great, but we'll flag her down if we need her. And then he launches into his food with his usual gusto, splashing a little spray of red sauce on the white tablecloth. I can't even begin to touch my food, my stomach rolling with anxiety. All I can do is stare at it, thinking of how good it had sounded to me before Gale had thrown all this on my shoulders.

"Hey," Gale says kindly, bringing my attention back to him. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. In fact, you can pretend this conversation never even happened if that's what you think is best." He shrugs then looks me dead in the eye. I know I've made a mistake in letting this happen, letting my eyes meet his. Especially when he says, "But I know you Catnip, probably better than anyone. And I'm telling you: give Peeta a chance, or you'll regret it."

And then, as if this last twenty minutes hasn't happened, Gale's back to talking about Posy and her silly antics the last time he'd seen her, how excited his mom is to be downgrading to a smaller, more affordable house now that all the kids are moving on. And slowly I feel the knots in my stomach untangle, eased by the effects of just being with Gale. As much as this whole afternoon as left me raw, I know Gale wouldn't have dragged us into such a crappy conversation if it wasn't imperative that we have it. And I'm surprised when I look down at my food again and find my appetite's returned. I wind some noodles over the fork I have pressed to my spoon, wrapping them up into a bite I can manage without getting sauce all over my face. Gale halts mid-sentence for a second to give me an approving smile, then keeps talking as if nothing happened.

* * *

This is one of our first nights in a real stadium. Ever since the festival, all the performances have been at clubs like the one they'd played in the first night we'd met up with them. I'm glad we're able to be in the wings for this one and not on the stage with the rest of the crowd. Prim had wanted to be in the crowd a few times, to see the band up front and face-on. But Madge and I prefer to be behind the scenes and avoid the inevitable claustrophobia that overtakes us in large groups. Johanna doesn't care where she watches the show from—as long as she has a clear view of Finnick.

Things with Johanna and Finnick have been heating up for the last couple of days, which is surprising considering how bat-shit crazy Johanna had acted for a few days after the night at the club where Finnick had seen his friend from back in Four. I don't think Johanna would have acted so nuts if Finnick would have done something to minimize how he feels about Annie. But instead he let Johanna simmer and then allowed his natural charms to woo her back. I'm surprised at how well it worked and how easily Johanna let it go after her initial manic ranting. I was even more surprised that Finnick was even still interested in Johanna.

No. Interested is the wrong word. I get this sinking feeling that Finnick is just settling for Johanna because she's throwing herself at him and is so easily obtainable right now. As much as Finnick has grown on me over the last two weeks, I still can't help feeling that he's going to end up either disappointing or destroying Johanna. To make matters worse, I've heard someone sneaking out of the hotel rooms the last couple of nights and a quick bed check has proven it's been Johanna. And I have no doubts over where she's been going at night. I'm certain Finnick is involved and they're sure as hell not playing chess.

They're almost done for the night, having played for almost two hours tonight—an impressive set for any band. Yet again I'm in awe by their stamina and how well they can keep their energy level high for the crowd. I'm exhausted just watching them, and the only thing keeping me awake is the steady throbbing between my legs that's been a constant companion over the last week during every single performance. I'm doing my best to keep my eyes off of Peeta, to keep them on Gale or Rory, anywhere that won't provoke the sexual tension that's coiling up inside my chest. But every once in a while I can swear I feel Peeta's stare on me, and I can feel the throb intensify all over again just as I've managed to calm myself down.

I'm relieved when it becomes evident they're winding down for their last song. After seeing this process over half a dozen times now, I'm starting to be able to recognize their cues to each other. I can feel Madge reach over and she gives my hand a quick squeeze to draw my eyes over to her. She gives me a tired smile, and I know she's thinking the same thing as me. As much as we've enjoyed this tour so far, nights like this that go so late can really wear us out, especially when we have to smile for all the backstage workers all night while the band boys schmooze.

"So, everyone," Finnick says, addressing the crowd. "This last song we're going to play for you is a new one, never played before." The crowd whoops and calls in excitement as Finnick gives them a wide, excited grin. "It was written by our wonderful guitarist, Peeta." Finnick turns and points to Peeta, who gives a shy wave as a smattering of pink colors his cheeks. "It's one of our first sort of sappy ones, so of course it was written by Babyface Mellark." The stadium is full of girly giggles and shrieks to which Peeta's only response is a head shake and a steadily reddening face.

I'm surprised by this. I hadn't known Peeta was interested in songwriting, let alone had actually written something. I wonder now if this is the song they've been working on during our times on the bus, plucking away and arguing about cords. I know that Peeta had wanted it to be perfect, that he'd gone back and forth with Gale several times about different things, but this explained his intense interest in the song. He'd written it, and from the sounds of it, this is the first song of his they'll be playing. I think I recognize a few of the as an intro from what they've been plucking out on the bus.

"Now," Finnick says with a smirk. "I don't know if you guys have heard this yet or not, but we have a special guest with us on the tour." Finnick turns toward the wings in the direction of where we're standing and gives us a sly smile. "Gale's girlfriend is joining us on tour for the first time." This is met with a chorus of boos from the girls in the crowd, who I guess are some of Gale's fans. Madge doesn't seem put-off by the negative feedback; instead she beams proudly.

"And," Finnick continues, "she brought a few guests with her. They've become very good friends of ours. Actually," Finnick says with mock secrecy to the audience, "one of them had some reservations about joining a band tour. She's sort of hoity-toity about things." The smile he casts my way is teasing, and I roll my eyes in reply, lifting one middle finger to tell him exactly how I feel about the jesting.

"But," he finishes, "she's come around and I think she's actually starting to like this whole scene. So...this song is dedicated to her."

What!

I round on Madge, who's doing her best to look innocent as they launch into the song which is, as Finnick had promised, slower and more subdued than most of their music. I can feel the panic rising in my stomach. I know now by looking at her face I'm not going to like this, that I'm going to wish I was anywhere but here. Actually, I already wish I am.

"Don't look at me," Madge mumbles in a voice so low I can barely hear it over the music. "I didn't have anything to do with this. This is all them."

I'm working up something snarky to say in response, to tell her she should have known and that she needs to find a way to fix this now when Finnick begins singing words I'd never had expected.

_"Stay with me, baby stay with me,_

_Tonight don't leave me alone._

_Walk with me, come and walk with me,_

_To the edge of all we've ever known."_

"No," I gasp, my chest constricting more and more with each verse that comes spilling out of Finnick's mouth. My knees are going weak and I can see darkness moving in on the edges of my vision, terror overriding everything inside of me. Madge's hand is at my right elbow and Prim's at my left, steadying me.

"Hey," Prim says soothingly. "It's okay, Katniss."

"You..." I barely manage to get out, my lips going numb, "You knew about this?"

Prim shrugs, doing her best to work up a calm face as I stare her down with a look I'm sure seems frantic. "Peeta showed me the song a few days ago, asked me what I thought." He gaze is firm as she looks me dead in the eyes and says, "I told him it was okay."

_"I can see you there with the city lights,_

_Fourteenth floor, pale grey eyes._

_I can breathe you in._

_Two shadows standing by the bedroom door,_

_No, I could not want you more than I did right then,_

_As our heads leaned in."_

I let my eyes fall on Peeta to find him staring at me intently, as if he's waiting for something. I can see how vulnerable he is now, how laid bare he is on the stage where he always looks his most confident. I know he's expecting something, waiting for me to give him a sign as to what I think of all this. I know that he's taken a risk doing this, publicly telling me his feelings. And even if no one else actually knows what he's doing, it's still enough to leave us both raw.

I risk a glance over at Gale, who's also looking at me. His face is stern and I know he's trying to reprimand me, reminding me of our conversation earlier today. But in this moment, I couldn't give a damn what Gale thinks is for the best. He told me I could forget all about it if I wanted to. I'm suddenly furious with him for not warning me about this. If this were the other way around, Gale would be screaming at me, spraying spit in my face from the force of his anger. Our disinterest in social situations and distaste for surprises have always been two of the biggest things to tie us together. I have never felt so completely betrayed by him.

I can still feel Peeta's eyes on me and I know he's watching the different emotions that must be showing on my face. I make myself look at him and I'm surprised when the wind is knocked out of me by the hurt look on his face. His eyes are pleading, and I know I'm killing him by reacting so poorly. Sweet, steady Peeta who's never been anything but kind to me. Peeta, who makes me feel things I've been running from my whole life.

"I'm sorry," I gasp, sure he can read my lips.

"Katniss," Johanna says in a voice I'm surprised to hear is low and coaxing. "Don't—"

"No," I say firmly, pulling free of Madge and Prim as I back away from the stage. "I just can't."

And then I'm running.

_"Well, I'm not sure what this is gonna be,_

_But with my eyes closed all I see_

_Is the skyline, through the window,_

_The moon above you and the streets below."_

I'm not sure where I plan to go when I go running off like this. As soon as I pass all the technicians I stall for a minute, panicking as I wonder where on earth I can go to escape, to get away from all of this and have a few minutes to think. I think back to all the times I'd feel trapped or in danger back home, in Gale's and my woods. A tree was always the safest place to be, a place where you could get out of danger's way and get the upper hand on the next attack. I almost sob at the memory of my woods, a place where I feel in control and safe despite the lurking wildlife. In a place so far from nature I feel nothing right now but out of my element and totally lost.

Where would I find a tree in a place like this?

And then my eyes fall on a set of stairs. Not stopping to think, I race toward and up them, blinded by panic as I climb. They lead to a platform overlooking the stage, where the stagehands would stand during plays to perform any number of tasks. I groan, realizing I haven't really escaped anything. I can still hear the music coming from below me, pounding into me with each bittersweet word I know Peeta's written. And they'd dedicated the song to me. A terrified part of me wonders if Peeta wrote that for me, if I'd been sitting there watching him construct the very thing that would destroy me. I risk a look over the railing to look down at the stage, to see what everyone's reaction is to me running away. I wonder if I'll be able to see the girls or if they'll be obscured from me. But first I look to the stage, seeking out Peeta.

But Peeta's not there.

_"She shows me everything she used to know,_

_Picture frames and country roads,_

_When the days were long and the world was small."_

Instead, standing in his place is someone who does have blond hair, but it's longer than Peeta's and the person is significantly taller. It takes me a second, but I finally realize that Haymitch has taken over the guitar in Peeta's stead. But if Haymitch is playing the guitar, where's...

"Katniss," comes a voice from behind me, low and soothing as if the person is trying to coax a feral cat from running away. A cool hand takes my shoulder in its grasp, holding me in place even as I move to run. And I know instantly it's Peeta.

"You," I growl more ferociously than I thought I would. I spin to face him with the full intention of punching him right in his perfectly square jaw but instead find myself in his arms with my arms pinned to my sides by his hands. "What do you think you're doing, pulling something like that?" I ask as I try to gauge if my knee will reach his groin before he can stop me.

"Katniss," Peeta says, this time as a sigh. "Just stop. Wait—"

"No," I shriek, trying to pull myself from his arms. "What right do you have? What makes you think you just get to do that to a person—"

"Hey!" Peeta says firmly, putting his hand on the side of my face with his thumb under my chin, pulling my head up to look him in the eyes. "What did you expect me to do, Katniss? I've regretted every time I haven't done something like this, gotten you to look my way."

"Oh please," I spit out, fighting the urge to smack him. "A few days on a tour bus together and now you're Romeo?"

"A few days...what are you talking about?" Peeta asks incredulously. He runs his free hand through his hair and looks up at the rafters mumbling, "Gale said he told you." But then he looks back down at me and locks his eyes on mine. "But of course you wouldn't listen to a word he said." Then the hand that had been in his hair is at my shoulder now, holding me in place as his eyes probe mine intensely. "I remember the first time I heard you sing when we were five. I'd heard the Valley Song a hundred times before then but when you sang it...all the birds stop singing to listen to you."

_"She stood by as it fell apart,_

_Separate rooms and broken hearts,_

_But I won't be the one to let you go."_

My throat closes up, and my mouth immediately goes dry as he says this. I remember the day vaguely, when the teacher had called for someone to sing the song. I'd been eager back then, not consumed with the worry over what people would think of me like I am now. She'd called me up to the front of the class and had me sing for everyone. But I don't remember the birds stopping. I don't remember Peeta Mellark staring at me. I just remember feeling like I could fly right out the windows when I sang that song.

"I tried to work up the nerve every day after that to talk to you, but I was a kid and you terrified me. But then our first dance was coming up when we were eleven and I wanted to ask you. And I think I probably would have if your dad hadn't died that year."

I exhale sharply with pain as he dredges up the memory up and for a second I think he's going to apologize or stop talking, but he's like a man possessed. I can see he's been holding this all in for so long that nothing will stop him from finishing this.

"I didn't know what to do. I sat there in class and watched you wither away with all the life sucked right out of you. I'd heard your mom had gone bedridden after your dad died and you were having to take care of Prim until she came around. I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't stand to sit there and watch you waste away. So when I got home I grabbed a bag of cheese buns, the ones you'd always eye whenever your mom sent you in to pick something up, and I took them over to your house. I got in a hell of a lot of trouble after that when Mom realized they were gone." Peeta shakes his head slightly and gives a little mirthless laugh. "But it was worth it. You weren't home when I got there so I gave them to Prim. She'd asked me if I wanted her to tell you I stopped by and I'd almost said 'yes.' But I chickened out and said no, to just give them to you. And then on Monday it was like something had changed over the weekend. You weren't the happy girl you had been before, but you were better than I'd seen you in days."

_"Oh, I'm not sure what this is gonna be,_

_But with my eyes closed all I see_

_Is the skyline, through the window,_

_The moon above you and the streets below."_

"It was the cheese buns," I say softly, tearing my eyes away from his as I say it. "They were the first thing I'd eaten in days,"

"Yeah," Peeta says softly with a little bit of a laugh in his voice. "Prim told me that the other day, when I told her about the song. But you'd just started hanging out with Gale then so I assumed it'd been something he'd done to make you feel better."

"Gale?" I ask with a slightly hysterical laugh. "Really, Gale? He'd been an asshole the first few times I'd met him. We met each other out hunting and he'd made fun of my traps for days. I was pretty sure I was going to end up hating him."

Peeta shakes his head with a small, sad smile. "Yeah right, Katniss. I saw him watching you around school, I'd seen the way he looked at you. Gale Hawthorne was smitten and I was too big of a coward to try to compete."

"You know he started dating Madge during Junior year, right?" I ask incredulously. "How could you see Gale looking at me and not have noticed that?"

Peeta rolls his eyes at me now and says, "I'm not an idiot. I knew that. But I still didn't think there was any way you'd look at me with Gale Hawthorne around. So I missed my chance again. And Gale was pretty much the reason I stayed away all through high school. He'd always been at your side, I even thought he'd stayed back from college those first two years until you graduated so he could be with you."

"No," I say earnestly, shaking my head as much as I can with it still in his grip. "He had to help out at home, thought he needed to stay behind and work in the coal mines. Madge and I finally had to talk him into leaving."

"I didn't know that until I went to school with him. And I really didn't understand the details of everything that had happened until we moved in together. And by then I'd written you off in my memories, promising myself I'd move on from my high school crush. And I almost did," he says this last bit dryly, but I can tell there's a laugh underneath that he's trying to fight down. "I'd actually managed to get serious with a girl by the time you came to visit Gale. He'd told me you were coming, but I'd been sure I loved Delly enough that I could ignore you the few days you'd be there. But then I came home from the grocery store and heard you up in Gale's room singing while he played..." Peeta sighs and gives my face a little nudge up with his thumb, making me look him in the eyes again. "Even Delly could see it," he says softly. "She could tell something had changed after you'd left, even if she didn't know what it was. She broke up with me, couldn't stay with someone who clearly wasn't as in love with her as she was with him. And then Gale told me you were coming on the tour." Peeta's voice is intense now, his eyes darkening a little as they bore into me, consuming me with their force. "And I knew I had to tell you everything finally. And then you could tell me how weird and stalker-ish it was, how uninterested you were. And then I might finally be able to move on from you. But then I saw you, staring at me on stage all those times. And I thought maybe, just maybe your answer wouldn't be no."

_"Don't run away..._

_And it's hard to love again,_

_When the only way it's been,_

_When the only love you knew,_

_Just walked away..."_

I really can't breathe now. Peeta's face is leaning further into mine now, his breath ghosting over my face. I can smell everything about him now, the cinnamon, the dill and the oil paints and I say dumbly, "Why do you smell like you've been in an arts supply store all day?"

Peeta's laugh is loud and booming, and it shocks me to hear such a happy noise come out of him in the middle of all the intensity of what he'd been saying. "I'll show you some day."

_"If it's something that you want,_

_Darling you don't have to run,_

_You don't have to go ..."_

Finnick's still singing below and I can tell the song is pulling to a close. A part of me panics, wonders what will happen to Peeta and me when the song ends. It's been as if the song's had an enchantment?) over both of us, drawing us together and giving Peeta the courage to say what he's always wanted to say and giving me the courage to hear it.

"Well," Peeta says with a low growl. "Say something."

"I'm not good at saying something," I say softly, pleading for him to understand, to let me go so I can run away and find somewhere quiet to process everything. To find my sister and throttle her for conspiring behind my back like this. For letting me be so blind-sighted.

Peeta's face is closer to mine now and our noses are almost touching. I think for a second to pull away and finally try to run, but Peeta's holding me firmly in place.

"Then come here," Peeta murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose alone the bridge of mine, making me gasp.

_"Just stay with me, baby stay with me..."_

It's a whisper of a touch at first, like a memory or a dream when his lips first brush mine, so softly I'm not even sure it really happened. But then they're there, firm and soft on mine and everything I'd hoped they'd be. They mold over my mouth as if they've always belonged there and it almost feels as though something inside of me is sliding into place, filling a place inside me I didn't know existed. It fills more and more with each brush of his lips against mine until I'm intoxicated by it. I push away his hands from their hold on my arms so I can reach for him with greedy fingers. They find the soft cotton of his shirt first, and I fist my hands in it to give them something to do, to keep them from sliding right up his body and into his soft blond hair, forcing myself to keep calm and slow down.

But then something in my chest hitches and Peeta seems to feel it too because his lips are moving feverishly against mine suddenly, as if he's seeking out something that's been lost since the dawn of time. I gasp in surprise at the change in pace, the way he pulls my body flush up against his and crushes my hands between us. Peeta uses the moment I gasp as a chance to flit out his tongue and caress me and I can feel the glide of his tongue ring for half a second.

Holy shit.

I can't help myself after that. I free my hands from between our bodies and latch onto his hair, and I'm amazed at how soft it actually is under my fingers, like gold woven into silk. The hand he has at my face, holding it to his, stays firmly where it is. But the other hand goes to my back to tug? me as close to his body as he can get me. His lips are gliding smoothly over mine now, both of us finding a natural rhythm without having to work for it. He slides his tongue over the seam of my lips for the second time tonight, and this time I grant him entrance. I let him dominate the kiss, too overwhelmed by the buzzing in my head, the warmth pooling in my pelvis and the feel of his tongue and its piercing against my eager mouth to do anything more than hold on for dear life.

It's not until the need for oxygen arises that we're both forced to pull away, heaving for air as we stare at each other. Both of our eyes are wide in wonder and I can feel the racing of his heart beating against mine. Peeta leans his head forward to push his forehead against mine, a small smile on his face as he lets his eyes fall closed.

"Finally," he sighs, his breath tickling my lips in a way that makes me want to reach up and catch his lips again, oxygen be damned.

"Finally," I agree.

_"Hold my breath as you're moving in,_

_Taste your lips and feel your skin._

_When the time comes, baby don't run, just kiss me slowly."_

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

Eek! Words cannot describe how excited I was to post this chapter. I know you've all been waiting for this for a few weeks now so I am ready to hear what you guys think of it. I've been trying hard over the last chapter to respond to each and every one of your reviews on chapter 6 and I plan to make a habit of it.

If you want to chat with me (and I know you do...and I want to talk to you too!) you can find me on tumblr as simplyabbeycat. I've been posting excerpts from upcoming chapters so you can get a taste for what's coming and I have some drabbles that will be going up soon!

Thanks to the lovely Court81981 for betaing for me. She's kick-ass, inspiring and a pretty rad lady in general. If you haven't read any of her stuff, I seriously suggest you do! They're all sexy and sweet and fantastic reads.

If you haven't heard the song from this chapter (Kiss Me Slowly by Parachute) you need to. It's sweet and lovely with a kick behind it. It was a huge inspiration for this story in general. I'm not usually a 'song-fic' writer but for this it was too perfect.

So. THIS was where the story was ORIGINALLY going to end. However, I couldn't stop tossing and turning for a few nights after I finished this. There's more to this story that needs to be told. So please stick with me folks. It's going to be a crazy ride.


	8. Chapter 8

Seize Me

Chapter 8

_"You've carried on so long,_

_You couldn't stop if you tried it._

_You've built your wall so high,_

_That no one could climb it,_

_But I'm gonna try."_

_Labrinth-Beneath Your Beautiful_

"No one can know about this," I say firmly to Peeta.

We're still standing up in the rafters of the stage, neither of us willing to leave and figure out how to maneuver what's just happened once we get back to the real world. Peeta's arms are around me, holding me close to his chest, and he's breathing in the scent of my hair. My eyes are closed and I'm focused on his even breathing, which is soothing in comparison to his racing heart. It had thrilled me so much, I'd leaned up to press another kiss to him lips.

Well, it _had_ been soothing. But Peeta's sharp intake of breath startles me, and I pull my head back to look at him, surprised by his reaction. His eyes are wide and hurt as he says, "What do you mean?"

I take in his face, unnerved by how much my comment has blindsided him. Surely he didn't think we could just prance downstairs and announce to everyone, _"Hey, we made out during the song. It was totally hot and I completely want to jump his bones."_

Yeah. No.

"Peeta," I say, trying to chastise him while the fingers tracing circles on my back are making me shiver. "I'm not ready for this. I don't want the publicity of dating a celebrity. I don't want the boys to know about this. The girls either."

"To be fair, I never asked you to date me," Peeta says with a grin.

Well..shit. He's right, of course. I'm getting ahead of myself, assuming things I shouldn't. I'm inviting things I myself don't even want...do I?

"Of course," I say with a scowl. "You know what I meant."

"I guess I don't know what you mean," Peeta says soberly. "What does this mean for us?"

I sigh, pressing my forehead against his chest in exasperation. "I...don't know," I say dejectedly. "I guess we'll just figure that out as we go. It's just..." I turn my head and rub my cheek against the cotton of his shirt, trying to figure out how to say what I'm thinking. Which is hard, considering the rising wave of panic in my stomach. "I'm not a people-person," I confess finally.

I can feel the laugh building in his chest before I hear it. As it bubbles out and hits the air, I pull back and have to fight the urge to smack him. I can tell he's trying to hold it in from the miserable noises he's making, but he's failing terribly.

"You?" he laughs, rubbing his hands up and down my back as he says it. "Not you. You run with the unicorns and ponies."

"Very funny," I say with a scowl, pushing away from him and crossing my arms. "I'm serious, Peeta. No one can know about this."

Peeta gives a small groan and reaches for me, pulling me back up against him. I don't embrace him back; instead I keep my arms firmly crossed in front of me. Now that I've got the kissing thing out of the way, I feel like I can hate him a little more easily now. I'm almost sure of it until I raise my head and he brushes his nose along mine teasingly, taking my breath away.

"Okay," he says finally. "We'll try it your way. But what are we going to tell people?"

I try to muddle through my thoughts and remember what I'd been getting at with this whole conversation, but it's getting harder and harder the closer his lips hover near mine. I'm trying to remember all the arguments I'd been lining up in my head, listing the various problems with going public. The number one reason being that _we_ don't even really know what's going on between us.

"We'll just tell them we're going to try being friends first," I gasp as he places a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth. "Going to...uhn...take it slow?" The last bit comes off as more of a question than I want it to, probably because my body is doing everything it can to beg him to kiss me.

"That's going to be hard," Peeta whispers across the skin of my cheek. "Friends don't usually kiss."

"Maybe we just won't kiss," I say flatly. I'm determined to batten down the hatches, to _force_ myself to take a step back and reassess the situation. I went from wanting to clock the guy to melting at his feet.

I place my hands firmly on his chest with every intent to push away from him and regain some breathing space. But instead I can feel the pounding of his heart beneath my right hand while my left hand picks up on his increased breathing. The warmth radiating from his chest scorches me, sending waves of heat straight from my hand to my chest, where it curls and settles into an unfamiliar sort of feeling I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with. The heat flares when Peeta's lips ghost against mine, a small teasing smile formed on them.

"Are you sure you could handle that?" he asks slyly. He doesn't pull back from my lips so every movement of his mouth is a brush against mine, and I can feel myself quite literally quake with the rush of it. "I didn't get the impression you wanted to stop."

_Fuck_.

"Well, we'll have to try," I manage to say, pulling my lips away from his. "This trip isn't about hooking up. It's about letting Prim have a fun summer."

Peeta gives a quick chortle then says, "You know Prim wouldn't care, right? She _encouraged_ this."

I shake my head with a roll of the eyes as I push his body away from mine successfully this time, ignoring the charged heat that goes rolling through me again. "My sister thinks she knows what's best. But this isn't her summer to play matchmaker."

"I thought you said this was supposed to be a fun summer for her," Peeta says innocently. "What if she has fun seeing you actually let go and enjoy yourself around a guy?"

I'm not really sure how to respond to this, so I don't. Instead I wiggle past him on the platform, a span of space only wide enough for two people. I expect him to make a move to stop me, but he doesn't and I'm relieved. Now that I've managed to separate my body from his, my next step should be to distance myself from him as much as physically possible. The further he is from me, the less likely I'll be to walk right back into his arms.

"Come on," I call over my shoulder to him. "They'll be wondering where we are."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Johanna is in my face, her face horrified as her eyes flick back and forth between Peeta and me. "He writes you a song and you're not going to fuck him?"

My eyes are wide in horror as I turn to look at Peeta, terrified to see what his reaction is. I'm relieved to see his eyes are twinkling with laughter as he watches my mortified expression while Johanna continues to ream me out while the rest of our friends look on in astonishment. I try to beg him silently for help, to come to my rescue. But he doesn't, and I know this is his small revenge for not telling our friends about what happened up in the scaffolding over the stage. He'd made no secret of his reluctance at lying to our friends when we'd finally descended the stairs.

"I really don't see how it's any of your business," I say curtly, dropping my eyes to the floor. I'm not a fan of being lectured by Johanna Mason on any day, but the days when she'd dead wrong about it are even worse. My hard are fisted at my side, and I can feel the bite of my fingernails digging into my palms.

"Oh please," Johanna says with a roll of her eyes. "A famous guitar player writes a song for you and all you do is pat him on the head like a good little dog? Typical Everdeen. Have I mentioned how brainless you are?"

"Guys," Peeta says quietly. I think he's coming to my rescue when he says, "I'd rather not talk about this. Please."

This immediately shuts everyone up, all of them at a loss for words. I risk a quick glance in Peeta's direction to see his eyes are downcast now, acting every bit the rejected guy they think he is. I'm rankled by this for a minute, forgetting the secret had been my idea. I don't like the idea that Peeta's getting all they sympathy from this when I'd been the one ambushed without warning.

"Let's just go back to the hotel," Peeta says with a groan. "I just want this night to end."

Everyone shifts nervously as he says this, and I look up to see Gale giving me a quizzical look. I know that Gale will guess my game the moment our eyes meet so I quickly look back down before he has the opportunity. Rory curses, and at first I think he's directed it at me. I let out a loud sigh, and I'm about to ask them to just back the hell off of me when I look up and see Rory isn't looking at me. He's looking behind me. I whip around to see Operate Alive approaching us, spearheaded by the dark-haired girl I'd seen at the festival at the start of the tour.

"Cute stunt," she says in a voice that cuts. "I smell desperation."

"If you do, it's only yours," Gale retorts with a snap. "Following us, ladies?"

"Hardly," the girl says with a sniff. "Snow set this tour up. We just do what we're told."

"Probably trying to prove to you punks how much better the crowds like us." It's one of the boys who says this, the blond one with rippling muscles. Something about him makes my skin crawl, and I'm nearly nauseous for reasons I can't explain. I feel like I've seen this guy from somewhere before, the chill in his eyes sending shivers down my spine that fill me with déjà vu. He turns to Prim and asks, "Find another group of guys to buy drinks for you and your friends?"

Prim's eyes are wide as she asks quietly, "What are you talking about?"

I'm shocked when I realize where I know this guy from. I rack my brain for a name but only the one I'd made up that night comes to mind: Douche-Guy. He'd been at the club the night we'd met up with Gale's band for the first time. He'd tried to hit on me first, then Prim. Prim had unintentionally gotten him to pay for our drinks, after which Johanna had stomped in and pulled us away.

"You were at the club that night," I say in a horrified whisper. "You bought our drinks."

Douche-Guy gives me a wink as he says, "I'll be collecting on that too. I'm sure you'll find a way to pay me back somehow."

"You were in Panem?" Finnick asks with a smirk. "You guys are stalking us, aren't you?"

"Don't think you're so cute, Odair," the blonde girl says as she steps up and stabs Finnick in the chest with a perfectly manicured nail. "A few years from now you'll be mopping the floors at our shows. Snow's already said he's only keeping on one of us after this summer. And it's not going to be Misery's Fortune."

Johanna is at Finnick's side immediately, slapping away the blonde's hand. "Please," she says with an eye roll. "You guys look like a bunch of sullen teenagers, and you sound even worse. No decent record company would take more than a half-second's look at you before kicking you out of the building."

The dark-haired girl gives a cold laugh and says, "We'll see. Snow set us up at a few more of the venues on your tour. We'll know at the end of the summer who gets to stay and who has to go."

"You guys won't make it to the end of summer," Rory says with a laugh. "Not when Snow sees how well our tour's going."

The blonde rolls her eyes and turns to walk away from us, the others following suit. "We'll see who makes it to the end of the summer, losers."

And just as they're reaching the edge of earshot, the dark-haired girl turns around and calls, "And oh, Lover Boy? Good work with the song." Her smile is patronizing as she stares Peeta down. "I can tell it really wooed her."

Peeta's cheeks turn a brilliant shade of red, and Johanna says something nasty in reply, waving a middle finger at the departing group. Finnick laughs and shakes his head, surprising me when he reaches out and takes the hand she'd been waving at the group to give it a small kiss. Johanna is startled, staring at him as he lowers her hand from his lips but doesn't relinquish it.

"Have I ever told you that you really are something?" he asks with a twinkle in his eyes.

I'm shocked when Johanna blushes, and I cringe in anticipation of her saying something ridiculous and girly. But she surprises me again when she says, "I've been told that before," in her most Johanna-like way.

"Come on," Peeta says with a sigh, head low as he turns toward the doors leading outside. "Let's just go."

* * *

To say the ride back to the hotel is awkward is the understatement of the year. I'm physically exhausted by the emotional strain of ignoring the blatant stares of our fellow limo riders amidst the sexual pull I feel to Peeta. The feel of his tongue ring against my lips still plays across them like a ghost, haunting me the whole ride back. I'm relieved when we pull up to the hotel, and I'm the first one to bolt from the limo, rushing ahead of everyone to the lobby. Claiming an overabundance of energy, I escape from the group by taking the stairs rather than hopping on the elevator with them.

I stop once or twice on the way to compose myself. Not from physical exertion but from emotional trauma. I feel destroyed internally, laid bare at Peeta's feet. I manage to hold myself together for the majority of the climb, but I still have to take those breaks to pull back all the pieces of me. I don't do feelings with guys. Every pseudo-relationship I've ever had with a guy has been purely about physical needs, not emotional bonding. But something different started with Peeta tonight that's very different from every other kiss I've shared with anyone. I pray that this climb will have been long enough, that I won't encounter anyone when I reach our floor. And I'm lucky. By the time I trek up the thirteen flights of stairs, the boys are already in their separate room. I'm overcome with relief when I open our suite's door and see the door separating our suite from theirs is shut.

The door to the bedroom is too and I almost go inside, then think better of it. Sighing, I collapse on the couch, unwilling to face Johanna, Madge or Prim again just now. I seriously contemplate just sleeping out here, stripping down to my underwear and snoozing on the couch until I'm sure everyone's asleep. I know I'll still have to face them in the morning, but I just don't think I can handle it tonight in addition to everything else that's happened.

It hits me as I'm shrugging out of my jacket. I actually kissed Peeta tonight. Peeta wrote a song for me, and had all of the guys learn it so they could play it for me. He taught Finnick the words, _told_ Finnick to make that announcement. It had been probably the most corny and romantic thing I'd ever witnessed in real life. And normally it would have just made me nauseous with disdain. But coming from Peeta, it was warm and sweet and completely something to be expected. And I'd not only avoided becoming nauseous, but I'd actually _caved_ to it. And now that I know how his lips feel, how his tongue tastes, I can't stop thinking about it. I know I was right to put a gag-order on what transpired up in that scaffolding, but a part of me knows it's only going to make this tour more difficult.

I'm just slipping off my heels when the bedroom door opens and discharges Prim. I groan and lay back on the couch, throwing an arm over my eyes. I want to talk to Prim about this less than I do Johanna or Madge. I know she's going to question me with those wide blue eyes that don't miss a thing. She's going to find out what happened, and I don't want that. Not yet, at least.

"You don't have to sleep out here," Prim says softly. She's holding a pair of my pajamas in her hands and thrusts them out at me. I snatch them out of her hands, refusing to meet her eyes, and she says, "Madge and I made Johanna promise to leave you alone about it."

I roll my eyes as I stand up and wiggle out of the hot-shorts then quickly pull up the pajama bottoms, a set of red and gold flannel shorts. I turn my back to Prim and pull off the corset top then hastily pull on the red camisole she'd also given me. When I spin back around, Prim is giving me a quizzical look, her head tilted to the side in a way that would be comical if I wasn't so annoyed with all of them.

"Since when has Johanna ever kept a promise?" I ask, crossing my arms as I shake my head dejectedly. "I'm never going to hear the end of this."

"We just don't understand," Prim says softly. "I _know_ you. I've seen how you look at Peeta. I know you're interested. So why won't you just give in to it?"

I sigh and fall back on the couch, putting my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. "It's not so simple, Prim. And this trip is about you having fun, not me hooking up with some guy."

Prim lets out a twinkle of a laugh and says, "He's not some guy, Katniss. He's Peeta Mellark, the guy who adored you all through high school." She pauses for a minute contemplatively, then says, "And don't worry about me. It would make me happy to see you with Peeta, to see you happy."

"I'm not abandoning you to be alone on this trip," I groan through muffled fingers. Prim has a way of making everything seem like it makes sense in her own little world.

Prim's silent for a minute. Then mutters, "You're not going to be abandoning me, Katniss. I won't be alone. Rory is...nice. He'll keep me company."

This catches me completely off-guard. My head shoots up from my hands, and I stare down my sister, who is suddenly having a very hard time looking at me. "Rory?" I ask incredulously. "When did that happen?"

Prim rolls her eyes and shakes her head at me. "Everyone always said you were the least observant person in Twelve. But I didn't really think you were _that_ bad."

I think back to holidays with the Hawthorne family; Prim and Rory always stuck together when Gale and I would disappear into our own world together. I'd always thought she'd hated holidays with them, hated being stuck with the second oldest Hawthorne as her only companion on those days. I'd never considered that she'd actually started to _enjoy_ the company.

Groaning, I throw my head back and run my hands down my cheeks in exasperation. "It doesn't change anything, Prim."

I expect her to argue with me, to demand an explanation from me or something. But she doesn't. Instead I lift my head and find her walking toward the bedroom door, turning back to look at me as she says, "Are you coming to bed or not?"

Shaking my head I say, "No, I'm going to just sleep out here tonight."

"Suit yourself," she says in a clipped tone I've rarely ever heard her use and never has it been direct at me. "Sweet dreams."

Huffing in exasperation, I repeat, "Sweet dreams."

And just as Prim is closing the door behind her she turns around, head peeking from behind the door, and says, "Love isn't going to break you, Katniss. You're not mom." And then she closes the bedroom door without another word.

I sigh, falling back on the couch and saying to the closed door, "Sometimes, I'm not so sure I'm not."

* * *

I groan when the sharp trill of an alarm pierces my sleepy haze. A quick glance at the clock on the room's cable box tells me it's still only five a.m, too early for an alarm to be going off. I can't remember the exact time I'd set my phone to go off, but I'm sure it wasn't five-fucking-a.m. I fumble over my head, fingers searching for the cool, smooth surface of my phone. It takes me a few seconds to find it, and my the time I do, it's stopping its sounding of the alarm. Groaning, I tuck it under my pillow with my arm and flop my face back down, fully intending to go back to sleep.

That is, until the alarm starts sounding again.

Swearing in a whisper, I yank the phone back out from under my pillow and force myself to stare at the screen, determined to figure out why the infernal device is going off at all. The message on the screen surprises me.

_Call from...Peeta Mellark._

I'm instantly wide awake, shooting upright on the couch. The blanket falls from my shoulders as I stare at the phone, still not quite comprehending what the screen says. I momentarily regret exchanging numbers with him and the rest of the boys one night in the event we ever got separated. I'd never anticipated him torturing me with an early morning wake-up call. Which brings me to my next thought. Why would Peeta being calling me so damn early?

I seriously think about not answering. It would be best to not answer. Surely someone else has heard the phone going off, will be listening to hear what's going on. But somehow my finger is sliding horizontally across the screen and I'm lifting the phone to my face.

"Hello?" I ask in a hushed tone.

"Hey, Katniss," Peeta says softly. It's not quite a whisper to match mine, but he's speaking in low, even tones. "Did I wake you?"

"Uh," I say, running a hand over my disheveled braid subconsciously. "Kind of. Why are you up?"

Peeta's answering chuckle is low and sultry, even through the phone. "Sorry, baker's son. Early rising is a habit learned early in the Mellark house." He's quiet for a second then says, "Can you come to the door?"

My head nearly falls off my shoulders as I whip around to stare at the door to our hotel room.

"Yeah," Peeta says in response to my sharp intake of breath. "Surprise..."

"Just..." I mumble, fumbling around for the shirt I'd discarded as I'd fallen asleep, too hot in the summer heat. "Just a second."

"No rush," he mumbles, and the line goes abruptly dead.

I find the shirt in the pile of blankets at the end of the couch and quickly yank it over my head, fighting back a yelp as it pulls my hair. Remembering the horrid state of my braid, I quickly redo it as I mutter to myself about sleep and people who interrupt it. All in all, it's a good three minutes after Peeta hung up that I manage to stumble to the door and yank it open.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss in low tones. "I thought we agreed-"

"Hey," Peeta says, bringing his hands up in defense, "I'm not breaking any rules. I haven't told anyone. And I doubt anyone else is going to be awake for a long time."

"Yes, Peeta," I growl, "that's because we got in at _three_. Meaning we've all only been asleep for _two hours_."

Peeta gives a nonchalant shrug as he says, "I haven't sle

pt at all if it's any consolation."

It's not, and he seems to know it.

"Just," he grumbles, "Just go change into something...not that," he says, gesturing at my pajamas. "I'll wait here."

"You certainly will not!" I exclaim in horror. "Someone could see you."

"Then let me in," he states, trying to step past me without a care at all, as if he's strolling into something as ordinary as a grocery store.

"No!" I yelp, pushing him back. "Just...wait out here."

"Fine," he says, taking advantage of the nearness of our bodies to lean down and brush his nose over mine. "But don't make me wait."

I groan but don't respond, stepping back with a pathetic glare and shutting the door in his face.

I scurry to the bedroom, careful not to wake the others. I use the flashlight of my phone to locate a simple pair of jeans and a Misery's Business t-shirt from my luggage. I hastily pull them on after discarding my pajamas, and I'm pleased to think I've managed all of this without waking anyone. But just as I'm picking my phone back up from where I'd left it on top of the dresser that I hear movement on one of the beds.

Prim.

"Katniss," she mumbles, rubbing her eyes to look up at me. "What are you doing?"

"I, uh," I say, fumbling for words as I shove my phone in my pocket and snag one of the room keys from the discarded pairs of pants on the ground. "I...can't sleep. Too much to think about."

"Peeta?" she asks softly, rising to sit upright.

"A lot of things," I say with a sigh. "I'm going on a walk. Go back to sleep."

"Don't go far," she says with a yawn. "I don't want to have to send Peeta after you."

If only she knew.

* * *

"Apparently you aren't the only one who likes to wake up so early," I say around a bite of bagel. "That was way more people than I'd expected to see up this early."

"Yeah," says Peeta, wiping a bit of cream cheese away from the corner of his mouth. "People are early risers here."

'Here' is the Garden of the Gods Lodge in Colorado Springs. The boys had performed in Denver last night, but they'd booked our reservations here instead of back in Denver. It was an hour and half drive, but the boys had insisted on taking a few days to explore the park before moving on to the next city. The Lodge is named for the national landmark "Garden of the Gods" that it's in. It's supposed to be on the most beautiful places in the country, but I hadn't been able to see much of it in the dark of night when we'd arrived. The Lodge itself is extravagant, like most of the places we've stayed at, but it manages to maintain a homey feel.

"I can't imagine what would justify waking up this early to anyone," I mutter, taking a sip of the dark coffee Peeta had snagged for me as we'd walked through the small dining area the staff had set up. It wasn't anything fancy right now, just cereal and bagels, but Peeta promised there'd be more in an hour or two when the rest of the hotel guests started to make their way down.

"They wake up this early for the same reason we did," Peeta says with a mischievous smile.

I crinkle up the napkin in my head anxiously as I ask, "What _are_ we up so early for?"

Peeta's smile widens as he steps in front of me and pauses, effectively stopping me in my tracks.

"I'll show you," he says, "but you have to make me a promise."

"What's that?" I ask skeptically, not sure I'm going to like where this is going.

He reaches over and takes the empty Styrofoam cup out of my hand along with the napkin, stuffing the napkin inside the cup and tossing them into the trashcan a few feet away. It falls in successfully, and Peeta turns to give me a triumphant smile saying, "Pretty good shot, huh?"

"What am I promising?" I push, staring down his twinkling eyes.

"You have to keep your eyes closed until I say you can open them."

"No," I say flatly, fisting my hands at my sides. "No way."

"Hey," he says, reaching and taking my hands in his. "Please just...just trust me, okay?"

His eyes are wide and pleading and I find myself, without thinking, replying, "Fine."

Peeta's genuine smile is so brilliant I can't decide if it's irritating or soothing. "Great," he says, squeezing my hands in his. Then he steps to the side to clear the path in front of me, releasing my left hand but holding my right firmly in his hand.

"Close your eyes," he demands.

I obey, my spine stiffening automatically with nerves. I think to open my eyes right back up, unnerved by the loss of sight. But then Peeta's breath is on my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

"No peeking," he whispers deliciously, the words sending heat across my neck and morphing into a shudder as it reaches the rest of my body. He presses a chaste kiss to the skin just below my ear, and I let out an involuntary gasp. I think to say something, but my tongue is so tied I can't manage to get anything out. And then Peeta's got me by the hand and he's pulling me toward wherever it is he's planning to take me.

He drags me along behind him for a good ten minutes, not speaking a word the whole time. I'm starting to wonder if this is all a big joke, his idea of revenge for embarrassing him in front of our friends last night. But then I hear the hiss of a door, and I can feel the fresh air as it hits my body, the smell of early morning air soothing to my lungs. It's a different sort of air than what I'd find back home in my woods, but it's clean and wonderful.

"We're just going around this corner," Peeta says, his hand firm around mine while his voice is gentle and soothing. He pulls me around the corner and we walk for a few more paces before he pulls me up to a stop.

"Here," he says, his voice lilting with satisfaction. "This is perfect."

"Perfect for what?" I ask. "Can I open my eyes now?"

"Just a second," Peeta says and I can tell by the sound of his voice that he's stepped away from me. "Okay. Now."

I'm nearly blinded when I first open my eyes, the gentle rays of the sunrise before me shattering my sight for a moment. But then I adjust to the light, and I'm greeted by one of the most breathtaking sunrises I've ever seen. The mountains on the skyline are one long, continuous line against the rays of the sun. The rocks here are red in color, a sharp contrast to the grays and browns from back home in Panem. The way the red of the rising sun shines off of them makes them look like massive hot embers welded into the landscape.

"Pretty amazing, huh?" Peeta asks with a smile. "This is why people around here wake up so early. Not many things in life can beat a sunrise here."

"It's amazing," I breathe, my heart lifting as I see him smiling at me.

"You think that's good?" he asks with a smile. "Turn around."

I spin on my heels to look at the landscape that had previously been behind me and I'm blown away for the second time today. Directly in front of us is a cluster of the red rock formations, the sun on them setting them ablaze. And straight between the two largest clusters I can see Pike's Peak, regal and glowing in the morning sun. It looks like something that belongs on a postcard, not something that should ever exist in real life and certainly not something I'd ever imagined seeing for myself.

"Yeah," Peeta says, stepping up to stand behind me. "I prefer this view to actually looking at the sunrise straight-on. The sun lights things up that you'd never see during any other time of the day.

"Peeta," I gasp, "this is incredible."

"I thought you'd like it." Peeta bends down and places a kiss on the skin of my shoulder just where the fabric of my t-shirt starts. It sends a delicious crawl of heat through me, and suddenly the view isn't the most amazing thing that's happened to me so far today.

Peeta spends a few minutes pointing out the different rock formations in front of us that make up the Garden of the Gods. The biggest one in front of us is called the Cathedral, a sprawling line of red rock. The peaks of the rocks are perfectly fit with the name, looking like the spires of a church. He points out a few other formations, but only pieces of them are visible. He tells me they've planned out a segway tour for us to take through the whole park to see everything. He chuckles along with me at the mention of the segways, but promises they're the only way to really experience the Garden.

Peeta moves to stand in front of me, his smile suddenly shy as he looks me over. "Worth the early morning?"

"Definitely," I say with a smile, genuinely excited for the first time in as long as I can remember. "It's like something out of a story. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"You don't look so bad yourself," he says with a small frown. "With the sun shining at your back like that, you look like you're on fire."

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. "You don't look so bad yourself, with the sun shining on you like that. You look perfect in this lighting," I say teasingly.

"No," Peeta says, taking a step closer so we're nearly chest to chest. "You look like some kind of otherworldly creature. Like you'll burn me if I touch you."

I look away, unable to meet his eyes not as he says it. "You probably _will_ get hurt if you stay with me," I say softly.

Peeta's fingers are suddenly at my cheek, drawing my attention back to him. His eyes are so pale in the morning sun, washed out like my favorite pair of blue-jeans. They're warm and soft as he looks at me, his other hand reaching for mine.

"I think I'll take that risk," he says softly, bending his face toward mine. His nose brushes my nose for the second time today, and I wonder if he's realized the chills it sends down my spine.

And then his lips meet mine unexpectedly.

It shouldn't have be so unexpected that he kisses me. And maybe it isn't the fact he kisses me that catches me off guard. Maybe it's just my nearly immediate response to the feel of his lips on mine, as if we've done this a thousand time before in a hundred different lifetimes. When his lips move one way, my lips seem to instinctually move in just the right way to be complementary. And when his tongue brushes over my lips, I open part them without thinking, his tongue teasing and tasting in all the right ways that make me shiver. My hands are fisted on him, one at his chest in his shirt and the other in his hair, running my fingers over and over through the silk of his hair. I catch accidentally at the hairs at the back of his neck, giving them a small pull. He groans unexpectedly and pulls me closer, our bodies flush together as his hands hold me to him at my waist and neck. His own hand slides up and into my hair, catching in the braid.

He tears his lips from mine and kisses his way across my cheeks to my neck, leaving a searing path in their wake. His hand moves from the hair at my neck and up to the base of my braid, following it down all the way to the tail. As he presses a kiss to the hollow of my neck, he grabs a hold of a part of the hair tie and pulls it out, loosening my braid.

I start to protest but his lips are suddenly sealed over mine, swallowing my words. And as our lips reunite, his fingers work to pull my braid apart until my hair falls free, unbound. I feel it all fall behind my neck now, tickling by back over my shirt.

"I like your hair better this way," Peeta says between breaths. "Loose, so I can put my fingers through it."

I sigh and press my lips more firmly to his, uncharacteristically unbothered by this meddling with my hair. It feels surprisingly freeing to have my hair be loose and in his fingers, to feel the small tug of my hair between them. It shoots little lines of heat straight to my core, catching me off guard by fully igniting the pressure I can feel building in my abdomen.

"Everyone will be awake soon," I mutter between kisses.

Peeta hums in agreement, but he's slow to pull away. When he finally does it's to murmur, "Do you really think they'll be up before noon?"

I let out a low laugh that's more throaty and deep than I'd anticipated it would be. "That's true, but I don't want to take any chances. And," I add as sternly as I can, "I'd like to get a _little_ sleep."

"Okay," Peeta says regretfully, planting one last sweet kiss to my lips. "We'll go back up. But this would be a lot easier if we just told people and didn't have to sneak around."

I shake my head, annoyance bubbling. And I'm even more irritated that he's managed to damage my blissful mood. "I told you. I'm not ready to be your...well, whatever this is. See? We can't even define this."

"We'll figure it out with time," Peeta says, pulling me in close for a hug. "It'd also be a lot easier to figure out if we didn't have to pretend like you completely embarrassed me last night."

"We don't have to say that," I say dejectedly. "We could just say we agreed to be friends and let things progress on their own."

"Yeah," Peeta groans. "Because that totally doesn't sound like a rejection."

"Well," I say teasingly. "Maybe you were a blubbering fool up in the scaffolding last night. Maybe you choked."

He gives me a skeptical look and I know we're both thinking the same thing: Peeta Mellark doesn't get tongue-tied.

"Whatever you say, Fire-Girl," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "As long as I get moments like this, I don't care if anyone else knows or not."

"I'm glad," I say, pulling away. I know if I don't start to extract myself from this situation soon I'm going to get sucked back into those eyes and end up lip-locked again in a matter of minutes. "Because I really don't do relationships."

"We'll just see how everything goes, I guess," Peeta says. He almost sounds a little put-off again and I have to fight a groan.

"It's not a never," I say softly. "Just a 'not now' sort of thing."

"Because of Prim?" he asks in a low, smooth voice.

"Because of a lot of things," I sigh. I reach out and give his hand a quick squeeze, then promptly let it go.

"Alright," Peeta says in a tone that I know means he's giving up for now.

He starts heading back to a pair of sliding glass doors, which are now expelling large amounts of people. They all stare at me curiously, and I wonder suddenly if Peeta reserved this spot for a while so he and I could have it to ourselves. It's both sweet and annoying, and I shoot him an exasperated look which he returns with a simple shrug.

"Come on," he says, gesturing at the doors leading back into the lodge. "Let's get you back in bed before you scratch my face off."

I tilt my head to the side, confused. It still surprises me from time to time when he picks up on stuff like this. I try to remember if I've mentioned my desperate love for sleep before. I think I probably have, it surprises me how much he remembers about what I say.

"I saw you after Gale dragged you to all those parties when you visited." he says as he chuckles. "A sleepy Katniss is a dangerous Katniss."

"You haven't seen anything yet," I mutter under my breath.

Peeta lets out a bark of a laugh and reaches for my hand, pulling me along behind him back into the Lodge. "Whatever you say, Fire-Girl. I'm just along for the ride."

* * *

Hey guys! I know this isn't really that early of an update since it's only a day early, but I figured you'd appreciate it all the same :)

I can say for certain the next update will not come until Friday. I have to get caught up on some betaing for three people and, if I'm being honest, I haven't even gotten Chapter 9 to Court-my beta-yet. Sorry to everyone who will be awaiting the update, but I _promis__e _it will come no later than Friday the 9th!

In addition to this story I will be reposted my previous fic "Kindled Ember" on August 15th for the Fifteen Days to Finish Your Fic challege on THG Abandoned Fic page on Tumblr. Keep an eye out for it and any encouragements would be welcome, it's going to be a race to the finish line! If you have your own abandoned fic and you want to participate in the challenge sign up on Tumblr at THG Abandoned Fic's page.

Follow me on tumblr for updates and excepts from coming chapters. Also, just come talk to me, yo. I'd love to hear from all of you and I'm here to talk about everything and anything. I'll also have a few drabbles that will be going up as I finish them. You can find me over there as simplyabbeycat.

Thanks again for all the lovely reviews and I'll respond to each and every one of them! (If you're a guest, see my response to your review on my tumblr "anon answers and reviews" page!)


	9. Chapter 9

Seize Me

Chapter 9

_"I've got another confession to make._

_So complicated let me try to explain._

_Don't want this feeling to go away,_

_So it stays, it stays, it stays, it stays."_

_Escape the Fate-Gorgeous Nightmare_

I'd really thought Peeta had been kidding about the segways. He hadn't, which I learn when the eight of us walk down to the back parking lot of the lodge to find a man waiting with nine segways. He's wearing a large straw hat and a wide smile as he waves us over enthusiastically.

"Welcome, welcome," he says in a deep, booming voice. He's shorter than his voice would have suggested, but he's all broad shoulders and bulging biceps. He's dressed casually in khaki shorts and a white polo, which matches the pale hue of his skin. He whips off his hat to reveal a head of bright red hair. "The name's Darius. Pleasure to meet you folk. Pick whichever one you want, they're all equally embarrassing."

Madge and Finnick let out a quick laugh at the man's joke while the rest of us titter politely, unamused. We all make our ways to a segway, and I'm relieved to see Peeta has chosen one at the far end of the group from me. I'd been worried he would misinterpret this morning as me caving to exposing our relationship, but I'm pleased to find he's keeping a respectful distance. But once in a while he'll sneak me a scorching look that makes my cheeks flame in a way I'm sure someone will eventually notice, however no one does.

We all stand around with our hands on the segway handles, our feet firmly on the ground as we look around nervously.

The guide laughs at the looks on our faces, shaking his head as if we're so naive.

"Don't worry," he says kindly, placing his hat back on his head. "I'll tell you how it works."

Darius quickly explains how to mount and dismount the segways, then patiently shows us how to move them in all different directions. He has us maneuver them around a set of cones to prove our proficiency, which Finnick and Rory promptly use as an opportunity to goof off. Darius has to reign them in finally when they almost have a head-on collision.

Once we've proven ourselves to be capable of handling the equipment, Darius takes us off into the Garden. The rock is even more beautiful up close, and the Cathedral, which is actually a larger cluster of different formations, looms above us. Prim appropriately coos when Darius points out the Kissing Camel formation and Madge and Gale take a sickeningly sweet picture under it mirroring the "camels." Then we zoom past the Cathedral's "spires" and the Three Graces, Darius chattering on excitedly as he leads us away from the Cathedral toward one of the more famous formations in the Garden of the Gods: the Balancing Rock.

There are already several people clustered around the rock, pretending to hold it up while other visitors clamor around to take pictures. I have to fight to keep from rolling my eyes at just how _touristy_ everyone seems. It is a very beautiful and interesting rock—large and balancing on a small cluster of rocks at its base. Darius informs us it is currently quite safe to stand under and in no danger of breaking. However, scientists have begun to notice minute cracks that indicate it someday could fall off its pedestal, its balancing act over.

So, naturally, everyone wants to pretend they're holding it up. I turn to express to Prim just how silly the whole thing is only to find she's gone, racing toward the rock with Rory in tow. She's left behind a surprised Madge, who's now holding Prim's camera. Prim excitedly waves at Madge, asking her to take a picture of her and Rory holding up the rock. She impatiently teeters back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting for a space to clear around the rock. Once the majority of the tourists step away, Prim yanks Rory under the rock, telling him to bend down and pretend to hold it up with her.

"Uh," Rory stutters, looking up at the rock nervously as he maneuvers into position. "Are you sure this is safe?"

Prim laughs. "I don't know, Rory. But if it starts to fall, I'm counting on you to save me."

Rory gulps. "Right."

"Oh please," Johanna scoffs, not even bothering to fight her eye roll like I had. "Would you just hurry up and take the picture so the rest of us can have our turn?"

I nearly choke on a startled laugh. "No way," I say with a grunt. "I'm good. Actually, Darius," I say, turning toward the tour guide, "Mind if I look around for a while until everyone is done?"

Darius shrugs. "Not a lot to see over here; this is the last stop before we head back. But sure, go ahead. We'll take a break here and reconvene in fifteen minutes to head back."

I nod, stepping off the segway to leave it with the cluster of everyone else's. I hop down the platform of rock the Balancing Rock rests on and wander downward, my feet sliding occasionally over particularly smooth sections of stone. I peek over the rocks toward the road that runs alongside this section, and there's a man with a small cluster of donkeys he's walking by, his pace slow and easy. I smile and shake my head at the sight, marveling at the simplicity of it.

It's like something out of a book, this environment out here. I've never been this far west before. Actually, I've never left Panem...really, not even District Twelve. I've stayed in my hometown my whole life, and I've never even visited anywhere else. All the stuff in books and on postcards had just seemed like a dream or a made-up world. I'd never really considered that a place like this really did exist. Now that I'm seeing it for myself, I still don't fully comprehend that it's real. I feel like I'll wake up at any moment and be back in my bed, this whole trip just a figment of my imagination.

"It's surreal, isn't it?" someone says, putting my thoughts into words.

I whip around to see Peeta standing over me. He's not looking at me, but looking around me at the Garden.

"Like a dream," I agree.

The sun is shining perfectly off him now, the golden hue of his hair in combination with the sun giving him the effect of having a halo. It's hard to make out his expression with his back to the sun casting shadows on his face. But his face turns down to mine, and I get the impression he's looking down at me and smiling.

"You should see Zion," he says, squatting down and plopping down to sit next to me while sprawling his legs out in front of him. He's wearing shorts today instead of his usual jeans, and I can make out the fine blond hairs of his legs, which are tan enough to suggest he's spent a fair bit of time scantily clothed outside in the sun. The idea sends shivers down my spine.

"Zion?" I ask a little dazedly.

"It's in Utah," he explains, leaning back to lay on his side with his elbow tucked under him with his face propped on his palm. "It looks like something out of those Narnia books by C.S. Lewis. Like you expect a centaur or talking lion to come strolling around the corner at any second."

I let out a barking laugh, surprising both of us. "I'd like to see that," I muse, falling to lay on my back beside him to take in the clear blue of the sky above us.

"I'll take you some time," Peeta mutters, and I turn to look at him. The blue of the sky has nothing on his eyes, which bore into mine intensely. I don't know how I missed it before, but he has incredibly long lashes. I imagine snow sticking to them in the winter, and I flush with a silly sort of giddiness that swells in my stomach. I inwardly groan and throw an arm over my eyes to protect myself from my own wandering thoughts.

"Katniss," Peeta says quietly after a long and awkward pause. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be presumptive; I was just saying it'd be nice for you to get to see it some time."

"No," I say with a sigh, pulling my arm away from my face. "It's okay, Peeta. It's just..." I sigh again harder this time, rolling my shoulders against the hard rock beneath us. "I'm not so good at the whole 'feelings' thing. Nothing seems to work straight in my head."

"Hey," Peeta says, leaning over me to look me in the eye. He's effectively blocked out the blue of the sky above me, but it doesn't even matter to me because it's been replaced by the endless blue of his eyes. "You don't have to apologize. I'm not asking for anything here. Just getting to spend time with you, any time at all, is more than I'd thought I'd get. So just—" He breaks off here, leaning down to brush his nose along mine in what I'm learning is a signal that he's going to kiss me. "Let's just take this one day at a time, okay?"

He doesn't give me a chance to respond, which is probably good because I can't be sure what I would have said anyway. His lips are on mine, slow and sweet. His hands are on me, one at my neck and one on my braid, twirling it between his fingers. Mine are in his hair, marveling at the silky smooth texture that slides like butter between my fingers. His gold curls seem to wrap perfectly around my digits as I stroke and caress his hair and scalp. He groans low in his throat and his body shifts so he's pressed up against me, and I nearly groan myself at the feel of his hard body pressed up beside mine.

"Jesus, Katniss," he moans between kisses. "Do you have any idea the effect you can have?"

I don't know how to answer that and my brain is too muddled from kisses to be able to form a coherent thought. A small, instinctual part of my mind is starting to panic, worrying the others will find us here. I spare a moment of my time searching for sounds in the distances as Peeta's lips move smoothly over mine, listening for approaching footsteps. But I'm brought back to Peeta by the quick bite he delivers to my bottom lip.

"Ouch," I hiss automatically, even though it didn't hurt. Actually, it sent little pulses of heat straight down my body to a place between my legs that's already beginning to throb.

"Stop worrying," Peeta murmurs against my cheek, and he moves his lips to my neck. "They're all fascinated by that rock. We've got time."

"Hmm," I agree, my mind sinking back into that place of bliss it had been inhabiting recently.

He brings his lips back to mine, his pace a little more erratic to match our increased breathing. I can smell the woody scent of his cologne mixed with the tang of the outdoors that clings to his clothes. I note with a little sadness the absence of the spices and paints that I've grown used to smelling on him. But then he shifts, and I am hit by cinnamon and dill and a very faint odor of oil paints. I'm relaxed by the scent, not even realizing before now how uneasy its absence had made me. I inhale deeply as I move my lips from his, kissing across his cheek to the underside of his chin. He groans low in his throat as I find a spot that's particularly pleasing to him.

His skin is slightly salty from sweat under the mid-afternoon sun, mixed with a hint of sweetness I always attribute to the taste of a man's skin. I bite at the spot I've been kissing and he curses, seizing my face between his hands and attempting to pull me back to his lips. I fight him for a second, running my tongue along his delicious skin one last time before he manages to pull me away. And then his lips are back on mine, slower this time as he attempts to draw me to a stop.

"Okay," he murmurs against my lips, his breath still minty from his toothpaste this morning. "Now I think we _do_ have to stop before they come looking for us."

I groan but agree, pushing up onto my elbows as he leans back and rises to sit upright. I follow the movement and lean over to rest my elbows on my legs with my face between my palms. I take deep breaths, trying to slow my rapid breathing that races along with my heart. It's slow progress, especially when I can still feel the heat of Peeta's body radiating against mine.

"How's my hair?" Peeta asks with a laugh.

I raise my head off of my palms to look up at him and have to fight a laugh. My fingers have thoroughly mussed his hair, leaving it standing up in every which way.

"Indiscreet," I say, fighting off an uncharacteristic giggle. I raise my hand and try to comb it back down with my fingers. It works to a degree, but it still looks far more mussed up than it had been when he'd come over here.

"I'll just run my hands through it a few times when I go back," he says, spinning to his knees and pushing off to stand. "That way they won't be suspicious. I'll go back first," he adds, brushing off the red dust on his shorts.

"Okay," I say slowly, staring up at him. He's got the sun behind him again, and it's hard to read his expression. He's been taking the secrecy thing a lot better than I'd thought he would, and it's making me suspicious. "Where did you tell them you were going?"

He shrugs. "To the bathroom."

I look around at the various trees and rocks around us and turn back to him, eyebrow raised. "Bathroom?"

He laughs and turns away, saying over his shoulder, "_Man's_ bathroom."

"Ugh," I groan, flinching in disgust. Peeta shakes his head with a chortle and walks away.

I hear shouting in the distance of the others greeting Peeta, and I know I should wait a few minutes before heading back to avoid any suspicions about whether he and I were together. So I stay sitting on the rock, smoothing my hand over its rough, gritty surface. This place is so different than back home. Back home we're surrounded by trees and the dirt is black and there's a gray haze that seems to constantly hang in the air. This far west, though, the dirt is red like rust and the trees are more sparse and drier. I can see forests in the distance, but they lack the comforting embrace of the woods back home. I ache with homesickness for a moment, my fingers scrabbling at the rock beneath them as they remember the feel of a bow in them. My arms long for the tight feel of muscles tired from pulling the drawstring several dozen times in a short period of time.

"Katniss!" comes the sound of Prim's voice. "Are you ready to go?"

I groan and pull myself to my feet, brushing off the red dirt that's collected on the capris I'd thrown on this morning after my breakfast with Peeta. I turn in time to see Prim scrambling over the smooth portion of rock, its rough texture worn away by thousands of feet. Her eyes are bright with happiness, and her camera is clutched in her hand. Her cheeks are red with excitement, and I feel my spirits lift a little at the sight of her so happy. This is what I'd hoped to achieve with this trip—Prim having the time of her life.

"Yeah," I sigh, moving to meet my sister halfway. "Did you get your pictures?"

"Yes," she says with a cheesy grin. "Everyone held up the rock but you and Peeta. I swear, you two are no fun."

I shrug. "I'm sorry, Prim. Next stop, I promise."

Prim rolls her eyes as she reaches for my hand. She's pulling me along behind her, back toward the group, when she says, "This was our last stop, Brainless. We're heading back to the hotel after this."

The little bit of Johanna Mason that comes out of my sister's mouth is horrifying. "Primrose Everdeen, did you just call me 'Brainless'?"

Prim gives a little mischievous smile. "Mason's got a point sometimes, Katniss. You can be a real blockhead."

"I resent that," I say with a mutter, following after my little sister grudgingly. I'm seriously second-guessing my decision to expose her to Johanna for long periods of time. The influence is turning out to be an annoying one.

* * *

"I'm getting the Warrior Princess package," Johanna says, throwing the brochure at me. "What are you getting?"

I scan quickly through the list of packages listed on the brochure, reading through each option's description carefully. I flinch when I reach the Warrior Princess listing. It's mostly a waxing package and covers everything from head to toe. I glance up at Johanna in horror, eyes wide as I take in her smug expression.

"You're not serious," I gasp. "Johanna...that's going to hurt."

Johanna rolls her eyes at me. "Oh, shut it. I've had a _Brazilian_ before, Katniss. I'm not a newbie to waxing, I know how much it hurts."

Madge rips the brochure out of my hands, and I watch her face contort into the same expression of surprise I'd just worn.

"No way," she says with a hiss. "You won't be able to sit for a week."

"Oh please," Johanna scoffs. "You two are so overdramatic. Like I told Brainless, I've done this before. Max two days before I'm back in business."

I scowl at Johanna. Ever since the concert in Denver when I'd supposedly turned down Peeta, she's taken a shine to calling me 'Brainless.' Sometimes I wish she'd call me the hated "Kitty" instead.

Madge groans. "'Back in business?' I really don't want to know."

"No," Johanna says with a smirk. "But I think you already know anyway."

We're at a spa in our newest hotel, spending the day getting pampered while the boys are at a soundcheck for their show tonight. Gale had grabbed the informational packet about the spa on our way through the lobby and had thrown it and his personal credit card at Madge once we'd gotten settled into our rooms. He'd insisted we go get whatever we like and demanded we not return until six tonight, after which we were expected to get dressed and be ready to meet them in the lobby for dinner by seven. No exceptions.

So we'd piled into the elevator and shot down to the spa, where we were apparently expected. They'd ushered us into changing rooms where we were told to strip down to nothing. We were each given a plush white robe and a large, red silk sack. The sacks were to be filled with our street clothes, which the ladies at the lobby would hold on to for us. Then the sweet brunette who'd been waiting on us had returned with a brochure describing the different packages and asked us each to select one while she gave our clothes to the check desk.

"You're crazy," Prim says with a roll of her eyes at Johanna. "We're here to _relax_. I'm getting the Escape package. Getting pampered sounds much better than getting tortured."

In the end it's Prim, Madge and I heading off in one direction for massages and facials while Johanna is escorted to the waxing department. We wave at her with teasing remarks while she waves back, her wave much smaller being that she's only using one very rude finger.

The massages are the most fantastic things I have ever had the pleasure of having done to me. I'd take this over sex any day. I almost teasingly ask for a wheelchair afterward, my body is so limp and relaxed. My face is a little tight from the facial, but my esthetician promises it will fade. Apparently my skin is a little overworn, and she lectures me on proper facial care. I promised to be better about my skincare, lying to shut her up. But I'm pretty sure she sees right through my lie since she only shakes her head with a smile and applies a soothing moisturizer before pressing me on to the pools.

Prim, Madge and I are soaking in one of the pools together in relative silence, each of us still glowing from the afternoon of pampering and relaxation. I've never been one to enjoy being poked at and prodded at for beauty reasons, the only time I'd allowed it before being when Prim does my hair. But after this afternoon I'm starting to rethink the idea.

"Okay," Prim says suddenly, the first one to break the silence. "Johanna isn't here to harass or tease you, so it's time to fess up. What's going on with Peeta?"

I'm shocked by this sudden statement, and I sit up a little in the pool's built-in seats, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I mumble, toying with the strap of the simple bikini the spa had provided. "There's nothing going on."

"Oh, please," Prim scoffs. "You two were both missing for almost twenty minutes the other day out in the Garden. I'm not stupid, you know."

My sister, forever too observant for her own good.

"That doesn't mean anything, you know," I say, aware of how suddenly interested Madge is in our conversation. "I went to go take a look around while you all acted like idiots around that stupid rock. He was off going to the bathroom."

"But Katniss," Madge says with a smirk, "how would you know that's where he went? He made the announcement about where he was going _after_ you left and he came back before you. We never talked about it again after you joined up."

Shit.

"Look," Prim snaps with a raised eyebrow, "I just don't think it's fair to him, what you're doing. Does he even know about what Mom did, or are you just letting Peeta think there's something wrong with _him_?"

I roll my eyes at my sister. "_Everyone_ know about Mom, Prim. It's not a big secret back home."

"What are you talking about?" Madge asks, confused. "What did your mom do?"

I turn to her, surprised by her reaction. "You don't know?"

"No," Madge says slowly, tilting her head to the side as she watches me. "Should I?"

"Mom was sick after Dad died," Prim explains softly. "She was depressed and didn't work for a long time. Katniss had to take care of us until Mom came around."

"She let herself sink into it that deep," I say venomously. "She shouldn't have abandoned you—us—like that."

"She was _sad_, Katniss." Prim's voice is rising in anger as she talks; this argument between us is an old one. "She'd just lost the love of her life."

"Which is why," I growl, "I _won't_ do it."

"Do what?" Madge asks quietly, her eyes wide as she watches us.

"Fall in love," Prim answers for me. "Katniss thinks if she runs away from everything she won't end up like Mom."

"Well that's silly," Madge says with a snort, leaning her head back against the pool's curve and closing her eyes. "You're not your Mom."

"That's exactly what I've been saying," Prim snaps. "But she won't listen to me."

The doors to the pool area bang open to reveal Johanna, saving Prim and Madge from my retort. Johanna's beaming and glowing, obviously having received massages herself. But the robe ends at her knees and I can see her legs are red from the waxing and her walking is a little jilted.

"Ah," Prim says with a smirk. "You survived."

Johanna rolls her eyes. "If you princesses are done, we need to head to the styling department."

"Styling?" Madge asks, raising herself to sit on the edge of the small pool. "Why there?"

"The boys called down," Johanna explains. "They said to get ourselves done up here and they'll pick us up in the lobby."

"What time?" Prim asks, scrambling out of the water. She takes the towel from a gentleman who's stepped up to the edge of the pool, holding several large and fluffy towels in his arms.

"Still seven," Johanna answers, taking one of the towels and throwing it at Madge, who's swung her legs around to the floor and is pulling herself up to stand. "But we have to be at styling by six."

I glance at the clock and groan, seeing it's already 5:47. I feel robbed of my relaxation, new knots of tension forming after Prim's third-degree interrogation. The fact Johanna's here to whisk us off to another location is annoying. Can't I just stay here in this pool and prune up for a few hours?

Johanna seems to read my mind. "Now Everdeen," she snaps, throwing a towel at the ground near my head. "Gale says he'll drag you out himself if you give us trouble."

I sigh and pull myself from the pool, wiping myself dry with the towel. I move to wrap it around my body as a cover-up when I'm done, but the towel guy is back with fresh robes. We pull them on quickly and I take a moment to enjoy the feel of the warm, freshly laundered terricloth. It's soothing, and I feel secure in its cocoon for the time being.

Until Johanna's claws are at my back, pushing me toward the door.

"Come on, Brainless," Johanna snarls jokingly in my ear. "Let's go give Lover Boy another reason to write a song."

* * *

The make-up artist is very sweet and completely amazing. She keeps the makeup minimal, insisting what a waste it would be to put makeup over a fresh facial. Instead she applies a tingling, cupcake flavored lip-balm and a few strokes of mascara. She opts for brown-toned mascara instead of my usual black and I'm surprised by what a difference it makes. It blends nicely with my skin tone but makes the grey of my eyes stand out, something I'd never seen before with black. She doesn't do anything else, which is a relief for me.

I'm surprised and annoyed when a spa staff member steps in and announces our outfits have been delivered. Apparently everything has been planned out for us for the evening. Prim gleefully races to the man who's wheeling in a cart carrying four garment bags, ripping down the one with her name on it. Inside is a soft pink dress of satin with a sweetheart neck and a knee-length hemline. She holds the dress up to herself and twirls, making the skirts swirl around her.

"Oh," Madge says, clapping her hands once in praise. "Prim, that's beautiful."

"Thanks," Prim says with a blush, pulling the dress away to examine it again. "I hadn't seen it before in the suitcases."

"No," says Johanna, unzipping her bag to reveal a maroon dress that also bears a knee-length hemline but with a plunging neckline. "I've never seen mine before, either."

"Gale said the restaurant they're taking us to tonight is pretty upscale," Madge mentions offhandedly. "Maybe they had Cinna pick up something new?"

This idea puts a bitter taste in my mouth. I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of Gale and the band paying for all of this stuff. They're a pretty big success, but if the competition with Operate Alive doesn't go well they're going to need this money. It seems silly to be wasting it on dresses and dinners for us when there will be more pressing matters if the band fails to hit it big.

"Hey," Madge says softly, reaching over to squeeze my arm. "Don't look like that until you see your dress. Gale told Cinna a lot about you, I'm sure Cinna picked out something great."

"It's not that," I mutter, reaching for a glass of water in order to avoid having to meet Madge's eyes.

"I _know_ what it's about," Madge says with a little sass in her voice. "But just look at the dress first, will you?"

Prim comes racing over eagerly with my garment bag but slaps my hands away when I reach for the zipper.

"You just had your nails done," she lectures. "Let me do it."

"They're nearly dry," I protest, looking down at my nails. The nail technician had insisted my nails were so nibbled down that the only option was acrylics. I'd been impressed by the end result, though; the tips are a modest length and the color a simple and muted french tip.

"I'm not risking it," Prim says with a smile, sliding down the zipper. "You're going to look so beautiful, and I don't want your nails ruining the effect.

I have a retort planned but I never get it out. My breath is stolen by the dress that sits in front of me. It's a simple green, the shade of spring grass, and it hits just below the knee. There's only one sleeve and it goes all the way to the wrist, the other arm left bare. The skirts are full and I know they'll swish around my knees just like Prim's. The back is open down to the waist, revealing an alluring amount of skin. It's incredibly simple but carries a sense of elegance that I'm comfortable with. I've never been one to be interested in getting dressed up, but this dress excites me. I'm even more excited when Prim pulls a pair of nude colored, modest-heeled shoes from the bottom of the garment bag.

Madge's smile is teasing when she says, "I told you so." She grabs the garment bag handed to her by the assistant and pulls from it a blue dress with wide, capped sleeves and a softly pleated skirt. She looks up at me with a smile, eyes shining with excitement. "Cinna is amazing."

"Come on," Johanna says, "Let's hurry up and get these on. I'm hungering for some men."

"Johanna," Madge sighs. "They're waiting for us, do we _need_ to go back up?"

"Are you kidding me?" Johanna snaps. "I'm not going anywhere without my ID. I won't be able to drink without it!"

"Oh darn," Prim says quietly. "Because a sober Johanna would be so awful."

"Damn straight it would, Duck," Johanna says, abbreviating my nickname for Prim in a way she knows Prim hates. "No fun at all."

"You better be telling the truth when you say you know _exactly_ where it is," Madge growls, slamming her keycard into the lock of our hotel room door. "I've seen how you keep your things."

Johanna rolls her eyes, pushing past Madge once the door is unlocked. "I remember the exact pair of jeans I left it in. It will only take a—"

Johanna cuts off immediately, surprising us all. She just stands there in the doorway, her willowy frame blocking our view of the room.

"What is it?" asks Prim, raising up on her toes to try and peek around Johanna.

"Call the guys," Johanna hisses, her tone venomous. "Now."

* * *

The room is a complete disaster zone. Everything has been strewn all around the room. The coffeemaker is in pieces on the ground, the flat-screen on its face with glass strewn everywhere. The couch has been slashed in several places and the innards are littered across the floor. The faucets in the bathroom and kitchen area are running, soaking the floors.

"Oh my god," Madge gasps, slapping her hand to her mouth in shock.

"Don't just stand there, you little fool," Johanna snaps at Madge. "Call Gale or something."

Madge digs into her purse and pulls out her phone, tapping the face a few times before bringing it to her face. She steps into the hallway to make the call and I can't make out her words, but her tone one of urgent panic.

We step back in further to the room to check out the rest of the damage. Prim runs to the kitchen and turns off the faucet to the sink while Johanna hastily makes her way to the bathroom to do the same. Nothing has been left untouched. Every electronic has been smashed, and everything soft has been slashed repeatedly. It looks like a raving lunatic came through our suite with a knife.

Which, I worry, could be exactly what happened.

"Someone wrote 'cunts' on the bathroom mirror with lipstick," Johanna says with a grimace. "I'm going to leave it in case the cops want to see it."

"Will they call the cops?" Prim asks, eyes wide.

"The hotel sure as shit will," Johanna says with a mirthless laugh as she walks toward the bedroom. "They'll need a report for insurance."

"The guys are on their way up," Madge says, stepping back into the room. "Security too."

"Oh you have got to be shitting me!" Johanna screams from the bedroom. "Fuck!"

We all immediately go racing into the bedroom to find Johanna standing in a room of slashed clothing. _Her_ clothing. All of our bags have been rummaged through, but the only luggage that seems to have suffered has been Johanna's. It looks like every piece of clothing she had in the bag has been torn to shreds and sprinkled throughout the room. Even her actual luggage has been destroyed, slashed and torn to chunks of useless canvas and plastic. And over the bed, Johanna's luggage had been under someone's written a message with red lipstick.

_Go home, bitch. No one wants you here. No one ever will._

"You've got to be shitting me," Johanna repeats, her face white with shock. "Who in the fuck?"

We all stand there and stare at the wall, dumbfounded. And we stand there in silence for several minutes until the sound of the boys calling our names breaks our trance. Rory, Peeta, Gale and Finnick all step delicately into the suite, maneuvering around the remnants of all the room's previous adornments. They're all dressed in casual formal attire for dinner, button-up shirts and slacks. Gale's even brought a large bouquet of flowers with him, which he sets on the kitchen counter as he makes his way by.

"Holy shit!" he curses, kicking aside a broken microwave on his way toward the bedroom. "Who did this?"

"That's what we'd like to know," Madge says, nodding her head toward the message on the wall. "Look at the darling little message they left for us."

"_Us_?" scoffs Johanna. "I think it's pretty clear based on the array of destroyed clothing who the message was intended for."

"How did someone get in?" Rory asks, eyes wide as he takes in the destruction. "These rooms are supposed to be monitored. No one's supposed to know we're here."

"Hey," shouts Finnick, turning on the hotel security personnel who've just followed the guys into the room. "How in the hell did this happen?"

"We're not sure," one of the men says, face pale as me meets Finnick's livid expression. "We're trying to figure it out."

Peeta's at my side suddenly, his hand discreetly reaching for mine behind our backs where they're hidden from the group. He squeezes my hand firmly but sweetly in his, running the pad of his thumb quickly across the back of my hand before releasing it.

"You okay?" he asks, voice low and hushed.

"I'm fine," I whisper back. "None of us were here when it happened. We came in to this."

"Thank god," he breathes. "You look beautiful, by the way. Did they take anything?" He asks this last bit louder, intending to address the full group.

"Not that we know of," Madge says slowly, looking around. "But it's hard to say for sure."

"Sir." A new security guard steps into the room, trailed by Haymitch. He's addressing Finnick, whose stare is icy with anger. "We think we've developed a sequence of events. A blonde woman came to the desk, said she was Madge Undersee. She asked the employee at the desk for a new key, which was granted to her. Our front desk receptionist then remembers seeing her leave about twenty minutes later. Our camera footage can confirm this."

"Your employee," Haymitch growls, turning on the tall, thin and haggard-looking hotel manager who's just appeared, "just _handed_ a room key to a stranger _claiming_ to be someone? Without id ID? To a _secure_ room?"

"The employee has been terminated," the manager says with a low and raspy tone, clearly out of breath. "We've dealt with the problem."

"Not hardly," Haymitch snaps, waving his hand around the room. "What are you going to do for these for girls and, more importantly, for the guys whose security we pay you most handsomely for? The security you failed to provide."

"We've arranged new rooms," the manager says in a clipped, offended tone. "On a new floor completely. Adjoining rooms still, as you've requested."

"We'll have to cancel the reservations," Rory says in a dejected tone. "It'll take all night to get this stuff cleaned up."

"No," Haymitch says sternly, "you won't. I'll see to it that everything is cleaned up as needed and all of your things are safely moved upstairs. I'll talk to Cinna and get Miss Mason's luggage and belongings replaced."

"Are you sure?" Peeta asks slowly, moving away from me to talk to Haymitch. "This is a mess. And the police will be here soon."

"I'll let them know how to reach the girls tomorrow if they have questions," Haymitch says gruffly. "You guys go enjoy your dinner. We have a long haul ahead of us so it's better if you enjoy tonight. We'll get everything taken care of."

"Thanks, Haymitch," Gale says, reaching for Madge and throwing an arm around her shoulder. "You ready?"

"Yeah..." she says slowly, looking to Johanna, whose face is still a little pale with shock.

"Hey," says Finnick, snaking an arm around Johanna's waist, "don't worry about this. We'll get to new rooms and it will be like it never happened. Especially," he says with a shoulder nudge, "if we get drunk as shit."

Johanna face lifts in response to the combination of Finnick's teasing and his grip on her. "You've got it, boss. Thanks, Haymitch," she adds grudgingly, nodding her head in Haymitch's direction. He doesn't respond except for a matching nod.

"Come on," Rory says, taking Prim by the hand. "Let's go."

I stare at Prim, raising an eyebrow at her. She blushes appropriately but gives me a defiant look. '_What_?'

I roll my eyes at her but allow her a brief smile.

"Excited?" Peeta asks, putting a hand at the small of my back to lead me toward the door.

"Careful," I say lowly in a threatening voice. He's a little too close for comfort with everyone around.

"Relax," Peeta says softly, boldly reaching down to give my ass a quick grab. "No one's paying any attention."

But as he says it Prim glances over her shoulder to search for me. When her eyes find me and she sees how close Peeta is to me, she gives me a knowing smile and a raise of an eyebrow. I have to resist rolling my eyes again at her. My sister, too perceptive for her own good.

"Fuck you," I mutter to Peeta, ramming my shoulder into him to push him away from him.

"Please," he growls.

I turn to him, shocked. His face is a mixture of his own surprise at his statement and the passion that's looming beneath the surface.

"How dare you?" I gasp, a little nervous laugh in my voice.

Peeta's face is deep red as he says, "Just trying to lighten the mood, Kitty." And then he's racing ahead, leaving me behind as he catches up with Gale, nudging him conspiratorially on the arm as they laugh over something Gale's just said.

And I have to resist pulling of one of my heels and throwing it at the back of Peeta's head, ignoring the delicious clenching in my abdomen that Peeta's words have set in motion.

_Boys_.

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

Hello my wonderful readers! I apologize for the day late update. It was strictly my fault. My readers on tumblr got a heads up about the late posting, so I apologize to those of you who were left wondering yesterday. Tumblr followers know the details ;)

Thanks to my amazing beta, Court, who practically overnighted the betaing to me so I could get this posted at a reasonable date. You guys, she didn't get this until, like, Thursday. So we owe her a big round of applause as well for helping to get this posted as fast as I did.

Thanks to everyone who's been such a loyal reviewer. You guys will get yours once this story is done, I promise :)

If you're not already, follow me on tumblr. I'm simplyabbeycat. I post excerpts of coming chapters and I have a few drabbles and such that will go up there. Things are winding down a bit around home, so I'm taking requests for drabbles/stories now as well. I've gotten a few and I hope to have them posted in the next few weeks.

Thanks again, everyone!


	10. Chapter 10

**Warning: Mentions of child abuse. Nothing graphic, pretty vague stuff. But still warrants a trigger warning.**

Seize Me

Chapter 10

_"Never gonna change my mind,_

_We can leave it all behind._

_Nothing's gonna stop us now,_

_No, not this time."_

_Black Veil Brides-Rebel Love Song_

The electricity between Peeta and me is intolerable at this point. There is something about elevators and cars that just seem to put me over the edge when I'm in them with him. He's dutifully sitting on the other side of the car from me, toward the front of the limo while I'm toward the back. We couldn't be further away from each other with six people separating us, all jabbering on excitedly and pulling us into conversations. But every time he speaks I can feel the blood in my veins sing, luring me toward this strange man who's caught my attention so thoroughly in the space of a little over a month. It's been two days since I last kissed him, and I can feel the way my body is calling out to him. I try to slam a lid down on it every chance I can, forcing myself to ignore him. But once in a while I'll look up without thinking and find his eyes on me, scorching me across the distance. I immediately lose my train of thought every time it happens, and I can do nothing but stare back at him until he's pulling me into another conversation. And I always feel a small piece of me curl up, like a flower in the cold, bereft of the warm his gaze brings.

The car takes us to a small Italian restaurant a few blocks away from our hotel. I'm skeptical as we get out of the car, unimpressed by the nondescript exterior that screams of a small family business. But I'm surprised when we go inside. Every table is covered with white linen and a solitary candle, set with beautiful white china. The walls are a creamy sort of gold with little lighting to illuminate them, giving the restaurant a cozy feel. It's well lit enough, however, that I can see the restaurant is completely empty.

"Are we sure they're open?" I ask nervously, scanning the deserted restaurant.

"They're open," Gale says smoothly, pushing past Johanna to step further into the restaurant. "They closed the place down so we could have it to ourselves tonight."

I gape at Gale as a waiter in black slacks and a white button-up dress shirt comes striding over, a wide smile plastered on his face as he approaches us. "Are you kidding me?" I gasp. "The _whole_ restaurant?"

"Chill out, Catnip," he sighs with a smile. "It'll be nice."

"Welcome to Icarus, sirs and madams," the waiter says, sweeping his hand out beside him as he adds, "Please, follow me to your table."

We all make our way to follow the waiter, but Peeta hangs back, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

"You guys go ahead," he mumbles. "I'll catch up to you in a bit."

I give him a curious look, tilting my head to the side. "You okay?" I ask, trying not to sound too concerned while everyone stares at us.

"Fine," he gasps, stepping off to the side and making his way toward the side of the restaurant to the sign that says 'restrooms.'

"You sure?" I ask, the worry in my voice barely veiled. I can feel Prim's eyes on the back of my head, boring into me.

"Yeah," Peeta says, giving me a grim smile. "I'll see you in a minute."

And then he's gone, racing toward the restrooms.

"Gross," Johanna scowls, turning to follow the waiter. I have to fight the urge to seize one of the salt shakers off a table and throw it at her.

He leads us to a large circular table in the middle of the restaurant. I try to wait it out while everyone takes a seat, hoping to dive in at the last minute to avoid sitting next to the empty seat I know Peeta will come back to occupy. Dinner before the club all those weeks ago had been hard enough. Now that we've crossed some physical boundaries I can't imagine how I'll be able to handle sitting next to him in a relatively quiet and romantic atmosphere. Even with the others sitting around us, it'd be hard to think about anything other than reaching under the tablecloth and touching whatever bit of him is within close reach. My mind flits over the possibilities quickly, and the muscles below my abdomen clench deliciously in response. It's just the distraction I didn't need, and I end up sitting next to the empty chair.

Shit.

The waiter is back a moment later, filling our glasses with ice water as he explains the chef has planned a very special meal for the evening. He rattles off a list of recommended wines based on the menu and Madge, the wine connoisseur of the group, selects her favorite for the table, a Pinot Noir. The waiter returns with five rounded, stemless wine glasses and pours a small tasting in a glass for Madge to sample. When Madge nods her approval, the waiter quickly pours glasses for the rest of us, then scurries off to pick up our appetizer. The wine is dry and cutting on the tongue, something Madge has taught me goes well with heavy, rich meals. I wonder what this exciting meal is going to be, slowly sipping on my wine while the rest of the group chatters animatedly.

And still, Peeta has not returned.

The waiter returns with a tray bearing seven small plates. He beams at each of us as he places one plate at our seats. On each plate is a large brown ball that appears to have been deep-fried and set on top of a bed of some sort of marinara-related sauce.

"Arancini di Riso, your appetizer," our waiter explains, his smile never wavering as he says it, despite our blank stares.

"A whoda de whato?" Rory asks, poking at his dish with a fork.

While his smile still never falters, the waiter's voice bears a hint of annoyance as he explains, "Risotto balls, stuffed with parmesan."

"Oh," Rory says, drawing the word out as he nods enthusiastically, bringing his knife down cleanly through the middle of the risotto ball. "Cool."

"Thank you," Madge says sweetly to the waiter, whose smile is finally beginning to morph into a disapproving frown. "That will do us for now."

The waiter gives one last quizzical look to Rory, who's obliviously munching away at his appetizer, before quickly striding back toward the kitchen.

"This is delicious," Prim coos around a mouthful of food, eyes closed in appreciation. "Melt-in-your-mouth yummy."

I bring my own fork down through the risotto ball, which gives way easily under the pressure. I break away a bite and dip it in the sauce before bringing it to my mouth. The flavors explode on my tongue, salty and creamy and delicious. I close my eyes and have to fight back a moan of appreciation. This is delicious. I quickly go for another bite and then another. Before I'm ready for it, my plate is empty. I turn my greedy fork toward the plate to my right, Gale's. He's always quick to let me taste off his plate, so I don't hesitate as my fork reaches toward his. But, to my surprise, it's already empty. I look up at Gale, who's smiling at me lazily.

"Not tonight, Catnip," he teases, pushing his plate away with a moan of satisfaction. I sigh, setting down my fork on my plate a little more aggressively than I'd intended.

Damn you, Gale.

Groaning, I reach for my wine and take a sip, unsurprised to find they're a perfect complement to one another.

"Good?" asks our waiter, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

"Perfect," Gale remarks, leaning back to sip at his wine. I'm impressed by this. Gale is usually a beer guy, and I think this sudden turn toward maturity has a lot to do with the blonde sitting next to him.

The waiter quickly gathers up our empty plates and piles them onto his tray, informing us our meal will be out shortly and he'll return with a fresh wine list for the main course. At the mention of the next part of our meal, it occurs to me we're still missing someone.

"Shouldn't Peeta be back by now?" I ask, aiming for nonchalance in my tone and actually hitting anxious. "It's been awhile..."

"Worried, Kitty?" Johanna asks sweetly, tilting her head and glass back to get the last drops of wine. She sets the glass down with a _thud_, smiling wickedly at me. "Looking for an excuse to go find him?"

"Shut up," I snap, willing myself to not go pink in the cheeks. "I just think he should be back by now. Someone should go see if he's okay."

"Don't worry about it," Finnick says easily, reaching his arm over to drape over the back of Johanna's chair as he leans back in his seat. "It's under control."

I'm about to ask what he means, why no one's worried about Peeta's absence, when the waiter returns with a new wine list for Madge. She changes it up for the main meal, choosing a Sauvignon blanc. The waiter returns with fresh glasses and a new bottle, which he also gives Madge a taste of.

Her smile is wide as she nods at the waiter and I feel myself smile in response. It's nice to see Madge acting so in control, as if she's comfortable in her skin. She's always been so much like me, an introvert uncomfortable with the limelight. But lately she's been so bright and happy and alive, and it's been bittersweet for me. I'm happy for my friend, but a small part of me worries I'm losing both her and my sister on this trip.

This new wine is also dry, but it's light and crisp as opposed to the Pinot, which was heavy and warming. I can feel the light haze that accompanies wine for me, and all of my muscles relax a little, letting me sink into my chair more. With the womb-like atmosphere of the restaurant, I'm feeling a good bit ready for a nap at the moment.

It's fifteen minutes until the waiter returns with our meal. He's brought a linguine with shrimp scampi dish, a deliciously creamy pasta dish that warms me from the inside out. The conversation fells the mutterings and sounds of agreement as we chow down on the meal, all of us too enraptured by the flavors to be bothered with talking.

Seriously, who the hell does the chef think he is, making something so damn delicious?

Before it seems any of us are ready, the waiter is returning to remove our empty plates.

"Any chance for another helping of that?" Finnick asks, leaning back and rubbing his slightly rounded belly. "That was fucking delicious."

The waiter smiles in response, clearing away the last of our plates as he says, "The chef has something planned for dessert that should tide you over, Mr. Odair. But, if you'd like, I can see if I can get second portions for you all to take with you."

"Please," Gale responds, dropping back the last of his wine. He raises the glass at our waiter as he says, "And more of this, please."

"Ms. Undersee?" the waiter asks, clearly having deduced who the authority on the wine is tonight.

"Whatever the chef recommends," she says sweetly, polishing off her glass as well. "After this meal, I trust his judgment."

The waiter nods. "Of course, Ms. Undersee. And Ms. Katniss Everdeen?"

I'm surprised to hear my name come from the waiter's mouth. I stutter as I say, "Yes?" while fighting the urge to raise my hand.

The waiter sets a plate in front of me, eyes shining with merriment. "This is for you, a gift from the chef." And then he's gone.

I look down at the plate and, to my surprise, see a bun sitting there on my plate. A _cheese_ bun.

"Gale?" I ask, not taking my eyes from the pastry sitting in front of me. "What's going on?

Gale's answer is full of laughter as he says, "Don't look at me, this was his idea."

And suddenly a warm, masculine voice comes from behind me, low and unsure. "How was dinner?"

I turn in my chair to see Peeta standing there, dressed in chef's white. He's scratching the back of his head nervously, a shy smile on his face. He's got a bit of flour on the right side of his nose where it looks like he rubbed his face. His apron is dotted red in a few places, which I deduce to be from the risotto balls sauce.

"_You_ made this?" Prim asks, her tone admiring.

Peeta shrugs. "With some help from the kitchen staff. That's why we rented this place out for the night. I've missed this, so I wanted to cook for you guys tonight. But I didn't want you to know it was me, in case it was awful."

"No," Madge says quickly, a smile blooming on her face. "It was all perfect."

"Yeah," Peeta mutters, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. "That's what Marcus said."

"Marcus?" Johanna asks, tilting her head to the side.

"Your waiter," Peeta explains, gesturing at our waiter, who has returned with a new bottle of wine for our dessert course. "He told me you guys liked everything."

"It was great," Rory says. "Especially those ball things."

"Yeah," Peeta says, fighting a smile as he exchanges glances with our now-annoyed waiter. "I heard you liked them."

Peeta bids us a momentary farewell, heading back to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on our dessert course. We all say a round of goodbyes as he leaves, my heart going up into my throat as I do so. Every time this guy walks away from me, it's like more and more of me walks away with him. What's happening to me?

"You going to eat that?" Gale asks, casually making a move to grab the cheese bun off my plate. I raise my fork and give him a gentle stab in the hand with it. Gale's responds with a dramatic yelp, pulling his hand away and acting wounded.

"Hands off, Hawthorne," I growl teasingly, tearing the bun in two. Steam pours out as the bun splits and cheese strings between the two pieces as I pull them apart. As I take a bite, my eyes close in ecstasy for the second time tonight. They're just as delicious as I remember, warming me from the inside out. Memories of Sunday trips to the town bakery after a morning of hunting flood my mind, my father's laugh echoing clearly through the flashes. This is why I love these cheese buns. They're an instant portal back to happier times.

Peeta returns after my cheese bun is gone, bearing eight plates of the most delicious tiramisu I have ever had. He sits beside me to eat his own, cheeks staining red under the flood of compliments bestowed on him. We're all completely stuffed by the time Marcus returns with the promised travel containers of the shrimp scampi along with a small bag of cheese buns for me. I expect Marcus to hand over a bill or something of the like and a small bit of fear opens in my stomach, worried over what the dollar amount for this extravagant evening will be. But instead. Marcus calls our car for us then shows us graciously to the door, thanking us for selecting Icarus for the evening.

As everyone else in climbing into the car, I stick my hand in the cheese bun bag, quickly grabbing one and stuffing it into my mouth. Only a small section of it fits, so I hastily close the bag back up and tuck it under my arm so I can shovel down the bun quickly before it's my turn to climb into the car. Luckily, the wine has gone straight to Rory's head, and it's taken him a few tries to maneuver his way into the vehicle.

"You liked them, then?" Peeta asks, stepping up beside me and putting a hand at the small of my back.

Mouth full, all I can do is blush and nod furiously.

"I'm glad," Peeta says, eyes twinkling in the starlight overhead. "I've wanted to make them for you all tour, but this is my first chance with a real kitchen."

Quickly, I swallow the large bite of cheese bun I've been chewing on. I grimace as it goes down too painfully, too large and poorly chewed to slide down smoothly.

"They were amazing," I gasp, reaching up and clutching my burning throat. Holy hell, that hurt.

Peeta laughs. "Good. Anything to make you happy."

And then his lips are on mine, soft and sweet as we meet. I allow myself to enjoy the kiss for a moment, warmed by the delicious food and wine along with the close proximity of his body to mine. But then I pull away, sighing.

"Peeta," I admonish softly, shooting a glance toward our companions. Gale and Madge are the last ones to get in the car, Gale holding Madge's hand as she eases her way in.

"Hey," Peeta says, the thumb on his hand at my back stroking me softly. "It's okay."

I shake my head, sighing again. "I just can't, not right now. I'm not sure I could handle a famous boyfriend. And with what happened to Johanna today—"

"Hey," Peeta repeats, his tone suddenly firm. "Nothing's changed, Katniss. I'm not asking anything. I get it. I'm just glad to even have this with you."

My lips flutter as I struggle to come up with something to say to this, to somehow make this situation suddenly less depressing. I want to be with him more than I ever thought possible, but I just can't find it in me to _be_ with him in a public sense. Just the idea of our friends knowing sends foreboding shivers down my spine. Somehow the idea of people knowing just seems so...invasive. I know the instant anyone finds out, we'll be all over the papers. Peeta is too well-liked by their female fans for a significant other to go unnoticed. I'll never get the chance to know if all of what I'm feeling is anything more than a fangirl crush.

Fangirl. Just the word makes me feel sick to my stomach. Katniss Everdeen does _not_ fangirl.

Particularly not over blue-eyed guitar players.

And before I ever have the chance to respond, Peeta's getting in the car and I'm left alone on the sidewalk, trying to pick up the scattered pieces of my thoughts. I finally climb into the car, still unsure what I would have said to him.

* * *

"I just don't know what the fuck to think anymore!"

Johanna has come storming into the bedroom of our suite, slamming the door behind her in a rage. Madge, Prim and I look up from the game of Uno we have going on the bed in front of us, startled.

"What's going on?" Madge asks, hesitantly laying down her hand on her lap to meet Johanna's furious stare.

"It's Finnick," Johanna hisses, shaking her head in frustration. "I can't figure out what _this_ is, if it's anything."

"Why would you think it's _not_ something?" Prim asks diplomatically, setting her hand down as well. I sigh and follow suit. It's pretty evident from the expression on Johanna's face we're not going to be able to finish our game.

Johanna begins to pace the room, worrying the hem of her shirt between her fingers as she does so, her gaze locked on the floor as she walks back and forth.

"He's so...polite," she hisses, biting her lip hard as her lips flash dangerously.

Madge gives a humorless laugh in response. "Polite is bad these days?"

"No, not for a friend," Johanna says the last word bitterly, spitting it out like it's sour on her tongue. "But for a _boyfriend_?"

"I wasn't aware things had gotten that serious," I say off-handedly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed to hop off. I reach for my phone, which has been charging on the bedroom's entertainment center, and briefly check the screen. No messages. Damn. I'd been hoping to hear from Peeta after last night, but so far my phone has been silent as the grave.

"They haven't," Johanna sighs, flopping down to take over my vacated spot on the bed, running a hasty hand through her long, brown locks. "But I'd thought...things seemed like they were progressing that way. But lately he seems almost...disinterested? Not that he doesn't seem to enjoy our time together," she adds quickly, eyes flashing with a bit of mirth. "But it's becoming pretty obvious he's not invested."

'_Hallelujah,_' I think to myself, fighting back a triumphant grin. "It's probably for the best, Johanna. Dating a rock star is never a good idea."

"Hey!" Madge says suddenly, immediately jumping to her own defense. "Gale and I have been working out just fine, thank you."

"Yeah," I snark back combatively, "but you guys had already set a solid foundation _before_ rock god fame."

"Because that makes it any better?" Madge retorts, her gaze angry as it locks with mine. "Things changed a lot when he left. We both had to make sacrifices. But you can do it if you're willing to work."

"At least Gale doesn't have any baggage," Johanna sighs, flopping back to lay on the bed and throwing an arm over her eyes. "I understand now why you don't want to date Peeta, Brainless. Men with baggage are hard enough. Add rock star to the mix and it's nothing but trouble."

I try to fight down my surprise at this statement. Peeta has baggage?

"What is it you think Finnick is carrying around?" Madge asks slowly, suddenly very cautious as she speaks. Her eyes are wide with alarm, her face paling a bit in response to Johanna's remark.

"All that shit from Snow when the band first started," Johanna said matter-of-factly, shaking her head a little in dismay. She pulls her arm from her face with a sigh and sits up on the bed. "Being hired out as a prostitute for fame is a hell of an introduction to the business."

Madge's mouth, along with Prim's and mine, drops open in a horrified gasp.

"Johanna," Madge hisses, eyes wide with horror. "I'm pretty sure that was a secret."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I demand, glancing back and forth between Madge and Johanna. "Who is this Snow guy everyone keeps talking about."

"Snow's the president of the label," Johanna explains, her eyes not leaving Madge's furious expression. "He's a bit of a dictator in the company, pretty invested in all of his bands. He took a special interest in Finnick, told him he had to make a name for himself if he wanted to get anywhere in the business. So Snow 'loaned' Finnick out to a few major investors early on, and in exchange they supported the band. It was pretty terrible."

"Do the others know?" I ask, looking to Madge. I can see Prim's face out of the corner of my eye and it's green with disgust. The churning in my stomach mirrors her expression and pallor.

"Yes," Madge says softly. "They all found out about it a few months after it stopped, after Operate Alive said something pretty crude about Finnick. He confessed what had been going on and Rory, Peeta and Gale wanted to leave the label, but Finnick refused. He'd done it all to help them in the business, so he wasn't going to let them ruin it."

"That's ridiculous," I sigh, leaning up against the entertainment center and giving my phone another quick glance. To my disappointment, the screen is still black. I turn back to Madge and roll my eyes. "I don't see Finnick just letting some guy hand him over to someone for prostitution."

"It was because of Annie," Johanna sighs, rising from the bed to start pacing again. "He was in love with her, and Snow held it over his head."

"Annie? The girl from that club a few weeks ago?" I'm surprised I remember the name, recalling a whispered conversation between Prim and me all those days ago after a night of dancing.

"Yeah," Johanna says, shaking her head as she paces. "When Annie's parents died, Snow took her in, sort of like she was his ward. When he found out Finnick loved her, he used Annie as a way to get Finnick to do what he wanted. Told Finnick if he didn't follow the rules, Annie would be kicked out and he could try and support her. Finnick didn't really have a chance. But when Annie found out he was sleeping with other people, she broke it off. He was too embarrassed to tell her the truth."

When Prim finally speaks, her voice is hoarse and broken. "That's disgusting."

"It is," Madge says softly, running a hand quickly through her long, blonde locks. "But Finnick refused to leave the label; he won't let Operate Alive win. And they're so close to where they need to be. If they can get famous enough, they'll have a better chance at getting on with a different label. Which is why this summer is so important for them."

"Then why have us along this summer?" I ask, reaching out to grab Johanna's arm as she passes. "Stop," I order softly. She glares at me, but takes a seat in the armchair in the corner.

Madge shrugged. "Honestly, Gale and Peeta thought it would take the edge off, having us around. Make it so they can't focus on the band so much."

The mention of Peeta brings me back to a thought from a moment ago, something that's been hanging on the edge of my thoughts ever since Johanna mentioned it at the beginning of her rant.

"What baggage does Peeta have, Jo?" I ask quietly, knowing better than to try and ask Madge.

"You don't know?" Johanna snorts rudely. "That was the worst kept secret of District 12."

"Obviously not that poorly kept," I retort, crossing my arms at my infuriating friend.

"Only from you," she laughs, crossing her arms to mirror me as she brings her pacing to a halt in front of me. "Forever Brainless. Why did I never think of that endearment before, Kitty?"

I groan. "Are you going to tell me, or do I need to go ask Finnick? I'm sure he'd love to know how the subject came up."

"Bitch," she replies sweetly, eyes glinting with barely-concealed malice. "Fine. Peeta's mother beat the shit out of him."

"Johanna!" Madge gasps, whipping her head toward me to watch as my face pales in horror. "That's a complete exaggeration."

"Yeah, sure," Johanna scoffs. "I'm sure those bruises were all from falls and trips and stumbles. Into a fist."

"It wasn't like that," Madge insists, staring at me with wide eyes as me knees go out from underneath me and I fall to the floor. "You remember how it was in Twelve. Running that bakery had to be one of the most stressful jobs in that place. Every ruined pasty is money in the trash."

"That doesn't excuse hitting a kid." My voice is low and hoarse with revulsion, my stomach somewhere on the floor with my heart up in my chest. The remaining cavity is cold with dread, thinking of my imaginary child-Peeta, whose mother beats him over burned bread. Something about the whole scenario raises a forgotten memory in my mind of a wrestler in school who'd missed a big tournament for a broken arm. The school had been buzzing from it, no one convinced it'd really been from a fall down a set of stairs. Had that been Peeta?

"No, Katniss," Madge says softly, falling to her knees to kneel beside me as I sit stunned on the floor. "It wasn't like that, not really. Like I said, running that bakery was hard on the Mellarks. It wasn't the food fun-fest everyone thought it was. It was hard on them when every mistake meant another missed profit. It wasn't just Mrs. Mellark who was hard on the boys. Mr. Mellark got pretty upset with them too whenever something went wrong. It was a pretty stressful way to grow up. Mrs. Mellark was just a little less in-control of her emotions when stuff went wrong."

"That still doesn't excuse it." My voice is hollow now, and I can't stop myself from seeing a small, blond-haired boy falling to the ground over and over as someone bigger than him hits him. When the image is suddenly replaced with Prim in place of the boy, I think I'm going to be sick. Anyone who puts a malicious hand on a child deserves a special place in hell. "I don't care how hard she hit him, Madge, or why. Anything that warrants town gossip is disgusting. How did no one know what was going on, how could no one _fix_ it?"

"None of the boys said anything, Katniss." Madge's voice is slow and steady, as if she's trying to reason with a feral animal. "The Peacekeepers came a few times to follow up on anonymous calls, but the boys always denied everything. So the Peacekeepers couldn't do anything. Until someone could prove their mom was hurting them, no one could do anything."

"You mean to tell me," I say slowly, venom clear in my tone, "that not a single one of those boys was willing to stand up to their bitch mom and tell people she was beating the shit of them?"

"What would you have had me do?"

The room goes silent as a new, masculine voice joins the conversation. I'm unwilling to turn around, my back to the speaker. I know immediately who it is, and while my heart sinks in fear, my body sings in excitement as it senses the close proximity.

Peeta.

"Did you want me to rat out my mom?" His voice is low and dangerous and I flinch, each word a blow to my heart. "Ruin our business? Our lives?"

I take a deep breath and brace myself, then turn around in my seat at the floor to look up at him. His eyes are sharp and angry as they meet mine, and I feel my defenses go up automatically.

"I would have expected you," I hiss lowly, my own anger rising as I meet his gaze, my fury over what his mother did to him singing in my veins, "to stand up for yourself and your brothers."

"Just like you went running to the Peacekeepers when your mom went bedridden and you had to work three jobs just to stay alive?" His voice is cold and unforgiving and unapologetic as he says it, and the statement knocks the air out of my lungs.

"Hey," Prim growls fiercely, speaking for the first time since Johanna let loose her 'baggage' bomb. "That's not fair."

"That was different," I gasp, my lungs short on air as he glares down at me. The thrum in my body has died to a low hum, still attracted to this man but made leery by his anger. "My mom wasn't a danger to us."

"Wasn't a danger to you?" Peeta's voice is incredulous. "How is you and Prim nearly starving not a _danger_ to you?"

"Katniss?" Prim's voice is low and hurt as she says my name.

I wince. I'd withheld from Prim the dangerous cliff we'd been on during my mother's depression. She knew that things were tight, but she'd never known I'd gone hungry myself to make sure she'd had a good supper. In this moment, I hate Peeta for telling her this—for breaking my sister's fragile innocence about those months of close calls. I long to jump up, seize him by the throat, and shake him until he's blue.

"Get the fuck out," I hiss, rising to stand and meet his eyes head on. "Now."

Peeta's eyes flash with surprise for a moment. He looks as if he's going to fight me for a moment, or maybe say something else that's cruel. But instead he gives a quick, angry nod, then turns on his heels and strides from our room, back through the doors connecting our suite to the boys'. Johanna, without needing any plea from me, jumps to follow him and locks the door behind him, sealing off our rooms.

"Katniss?" Prim's voice is firmer now, angry. "How bad was it?"

I sigh, refusing to turn around and face my sister. I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration as I fist my hands at my side and say, "Not that bad."

"You're fucking lying," Prim hisses, reaching out and seizing my shoulder in her surprisingly strong grip. "Turn around and face me like an adult."

I groan and turn to face my sister, hard grey meeting icy blue as our stares lock.

"Tell me the truth," she says, eyes blazing. "How bad was it?"

I sigh and then, unable to lie to my sister's face, I confess, "Bad."

Prim's spine stiffens at my words. Her eyes widen and begin to tear at my words. "How many times did you go without eating?"

"A few." The words burn as they leave my lips, knowing a small piece of my sister's childhood is dying as I say them.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asks, tears finally spilling over her eyes.

"You never asked," I say, shrugging my shoulders. I tear my eyes from hers, unable to bear the weight of the guilt that so plainly shows in them. "And telling you wouldn't have done any good."

"You should have told me," she says, reaching up to briskly wipe away her tears. "I could have helped."

"You were a _kid_," I sigh, reaching out to pull my sister into my arms. "You couldn't have done anything to help."

"We could have sold my goat," she moans, burying her face into my shoulder. "We could have done _more_. You were just a kid yourself."

"Hey," I say, rubbing her back soothingly, unsure if I'm more relieved her anger has faded or has been daunted by her sudden onset of tears. "It's over now. There's no way to fix it now."

"Couldn't you have told someone?" she asks, raising her head to look at me mournfully. "Told someone what was going on with Mom so they could help us?"

I shake my head sadly. "All they would have done was taken us away from Mom and separated us. That wouldn't have fixed anything and it definitely wouldn't have helped Mom or you. I just couldn't see you in one of those homes for small kids. No way was I letting them separate us."

Prim sniffs a few times, then steps away from me. She wipes away the last of her tears, a hiccup or two marring her breathing. As her breaths become calmer and less erratic, she looks up and locks eyes with me, giving me the saddest look I have ever seen on my sister's face.

"That's probably what Peeta was thinking when he was a kid too, you know?" Her face is suddenly thoughtful as she considers what she's just said. "That telling anyone wouldn't really fix the problem, wouldn't help anyone. It would only make things worse for everyone."

I'm surprised by her words, mildly annoyed by just how insightful everyone has been lately, particularly my sister. I hadn't really considered this when Peeta had said it, but something seems to click in my mind as my sister brings it to my attention. I can see where Peeta was coming from now, why he hadn't felt the need to speak up as a child.

"Maybe you're right," I admit, shaking my head dejectedly.

Prim's eyes widen in shock. Clearly she wasn't expecting this response from me.

"You should go follow him," Madge says quietly, speaking for the first time since my argument with Peeta began. "You two should talk."

"He probably hates me," I sigh, moving to sit on the edge of Prim's and my bed. I put my face in my palms, groaning in defeat. "I was awful."

"He was pretty awful too," Johanna adds, her voice surprisingly soft. "You guys should talk; things are going to be rough from here on out if you don't fix this now."

"What would I even say?" I ask, raising my head from my hands to look to Madge for help.

"Start with 'I'm sorry,'" she says gently, walking over to put a hand on my shoulder.

"Right," I say, standing and steeling myself. "We'll just see how that goes. If I'm not back in an hour, send reinforcements."

Johanna grins, patting me on the back as I walk past her toward the doors separating our suite from the boys'. "You got it, boss."

I unlock and open our door separating our suite from theirs to find that their door is shut and locked now. I knock on the door, my heart hammering in my chest. I can hear Madge, Johanna and Prim gabbing in muted tones behind me, but I try to put them out of my mind. In normal circumstances, I'd be second-guessing this decision to openly seek out Peeta. But the gnawing fear in my stomach drowns out everything other than finding Peeta and making amends.

The door opens to reveal Finnick, whose eyes flash with surprise as he sees me. He leans casually against the door frame, blocking my view of their room.

"What did you say to him?" he asks without preamble, his voice stern and his expression judging.

"Nothing nice. Neither of us had anything good to say. Is he there?" I add anxiously, rising on my toes to attempt to peek around Finnick. "I want to talk to him."

Finnick snorts. "Want to give him a swift kick in the balls to top it off?" he asks bitterly. "If you keep playing with him like this, Katniss, I'm kicking you off the tour. I don't care what Hawthorne or Undersee say, I'm not letting you stay if you're going to fuck with him like this."

I'm startled by this, but a part of me knows I deserve it. I groan, biting my lip worryingly. "I'm not trying to fuck with him, Finnick. Honestly. I'm just not sure what I want."

"Well figure it out," he snaps, standing up as he stares me down. "Or else you're gone."

I sigh, then nod in defeat. "Understood."

"Good." Finnick says, moving to close the door. "He went down to the tour bus; you can go find him there."

"Got it, thanks Finnick," I say, turning to head toward the door to the hallway. "I'll meet him down there."

I've got the handle in my hand and I'm preparing to open the door when Finnick calls, "If he comes up here anymore fucked up than when he went down, you're gone, Everdeen."

"Trust me, Finnick," I mutter to myself, turning the door handle sharply. "If this doesn't go well, I'll leave myself."

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

Phew. That was kind of an irritating chapter to write. Katniss is probably one of the most frustrating people to write about, I swear. But it's my birthday today so just...try not to hate me too much for this chapter, okay?

Follow me on tumblr if you're not already-simplyabbeycat. I post excerpts and there are some drabbles that will be showing up on there as well. I'd love to talk to you guys :)

I'm participating in the Fifteen Days to Finish you Fic challenge hosted my Baroness Kika's THG Abandoned Fics on tumblr, so keep an eye out for the return of my old fic "Kindled Embers" as I plow through the next fifteen days to get 'er done.

Thanks, guys!


	11. Chapter 11

Seize Me

Chapter 11

_This cloudy Sunday afternoon_

_we'll make anything our bedroom._

_So close the door, we're locked away,_

_I promise everything's ok._

_Through Arteries-Prelude (to Our Happy Ending)_

"Peeta!" I call, rapping my knuckles on the locked bus door for the fifth time. When I get no response I groan and ram my forehead into the door in frustration. "Peeta," I repeat, softer this time. "Just please...open the door. I'm not going to stand out here forever and beg, but I'm pretty sure I'm locked out of the room until I talk to you so just—"

Suddenly the surface beneath my forehead is gone and I nearly fall forward; the only thing stopping me is a pair of warm, solid arms.

"I feel like we've been here before," Peeta says, his tone teasing. "On the first day."

I groan and shove him away, shaking my head agitatedly. "Don't remind me."

Peeta's deep laugh sends shivers down my spine as he leans against the doorframe, an easy smile on his face as he says, "So, they kicked you out, huh?"

I roll my eyes and cross my arms, looking away from him back toward the hotel. "Sort of. I went to Finnick to ask him where you were and he made it pretty clear I should apologize or leave the tour."

"He did, huh?" Peeta asks, his tone one of bemusement. "That's...surprising."

"He was pretty serious," I say darkly, kicking out with my foot to brush at a stray rock on the pavement. "He...doesn't like what's happening."

"The secret's not much of a secret anymore," Peeta says coolly, pushing away from the door frame. He fully blocks the entrance to the bus with his body, and I'm instantly reminded of how broad his shoulders really are. "What do you want, Katniss?"

"I told you, to apologize," I mutter, turning to look at him again. His eyes are hard with anger as they meet mine. For all his light-hearted teasing a few moments ago, it's pretty obvious he's still upset with me.

"Apology accepted," he says curtly, reaching for the bus door. "You can go now."

Without thinking, I reach forward and pull the door from his grasp, a feat I manage only because I catch him completely off guard. His eyes flash with surprise as I take the first step up into the bus, effectively pressing my body against him.

"I'd really like to talk," I say, and it comes out almost as a gasp. I hadn't anticipated the way the heat of his body would affect me. He's like stone pressed up against me on those steps, hard and impenetrable. I long to reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, to soothe him and make him gentler with me, to extinguish this anger we've stoked between us. "Please?"

Peeta doesn't move, his stare wary as he examines me for a moment, as if he's trying to determine my motives. Whatever he sees, it must have please him because after a pause he nods and turns on his heel, striding into the bus. I follow him, closing the door behind me.

It's hard to remember the feeling of awe I'd had when I'd gotten on the bus that first day. Now everything is familiar and comforting, truly a home on wheels over all this time we've been on the tour. At times, I almost prefer my small bed on the bus to the impersonal hotel rooms. And maybe that impersonal feeling of hotel rooms is why this bus has become so comforting. It's slowly been personalized by us and the band, making it our own. There are pictures tacked up on the fridge from a few of the shows, featuring clusters of us posing and smiling for the camera. Peeta's acoustic guitar is propped up in the corner of the front room beside his favorite couch. Johanna's snuggie is draped over the couch where she left it after playing video games on our last ride. My favorite coffee mug sits in the sink's drying rack next to the Madge's divided plate and Gale's camelback water bottle he uses when he's on stage.

"Do you want some coffee?" Peeta asks, reaching for my mug without waiting for my answer. "I made it a few minutes ago."

"At four in the afternoon?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Peeta shrugs. "It helps me focus. I was having problems thinking and processing everything."

I don't really know how to respond to that, so I just nod and mutter, "Sure," before taking a seat on the couch next to his guitar.

Peeta pours me a cup of coffee, putting in three cubes of sugar and skipping the cream without even needing to ask. It's a surprise. I hadn't realized he'd been paying attention to the way I take my coffee, but now I'm remembering all the times he'd handed me a mug in the morning and I hadn't even been bothered by the fact it was made perfectly to my liking. I feel a bit of shame now, my oblivious nature more obvious than ever.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, sitting down beside me with his own mug. He doesn't drink from it, just holds it tightly as if he's trying to warm his hands with it.

I take a tentative sip of my coffee, stalling for time. Where do I even start?

_"Start with 'I'm sorry,'"_ Madge had said.

"I think," I say slowly, placing the mug down on the table, "I should apologize for the way I acted back in the room. That was...inappropriate of me."

Peeta sighs, putting his mug down. "People judged our family a lot for the way we interacted, particularly my mom with us kids. It was hard, running that bakery. My dad's great, but he's a little too generous for his own good. He's such a good guy, which is why my mom married him. But he can't ever seem to tell anyone 'no'." Peeta puts his fingers to his temples, rubbing them roughly as he slams his eyes shut. "There were a few times the books were in the red because he'd given away too many treats to kids or given people a discount. Mom always had to be the bad guy, which she hated. But she sort of got stuck in that role, which only made her angrier. She was always having to make up for Dad's generosity by being stingy herself. They couldn't afford to hire out help, so when my brothers and I were old enough we helped in the store. But we still messed up sometimes, which always cost us money. So, when money was really tight and Mom was worn out...she lost control. It was once in a while in the beginning and only when the circumstances were all horribly right. But it sort of became a go-to for her after a few years, which is when everyone started talking. It was a vicious cycle. Mom would be angry so she'd hit us. When she hit us, people talked. When people talked, it made her angry."

"So you kept quiet," I murmur, staring at the swirling coffee in my cup on the table, unable to meet his eye, "to keep things from getting worse."

"Yeah," Peeta says softly, picking up a spoon from the table and putting it in his coffee to give it a stir. "If anyone would have said anything Rye, Pan and I would have been taken away from Mom and Dad. No one really wanted that. It sucked, but as a kid you can never imagine anything worse than being separated from your family."

"Yeah," I sigh, my voice nearly a whisper as I confess, "I guess I understand that pretty well."

"I thought you would," Peeta says. "That's why I was so surprised by your reaction."

"I just—" I cut off, unable to finish the sentence. Why is this so hard for me?

"It's hard," Peeta finishes, pulling the spoon out of the cup and dropping it back to the table. He leans back into the couch and sighs. "It's hard to imagine a little kid suffering, be it from abuse or starvation."

This comment makes me bristle. "I think my situation was still pretty different. My mom didn't willfully cause us harm; she went into a depression because my dad _died_," I say hotly, picking my head up from my hands to glare at him.

"Yeah," Peeta says with a bite, "Let's talk about that. Your mom's depression, I mean."

"What about it?" I ask with a scoff, my brows knitting together.

"Does it have anything to do with needing to keep us a secret?" Peeta asks, his voice low and angry. "Or is there something wrong with me?"

"God!"I gasp, lurching from the couch to stand. "I've told you the reason and you know it's neither of those."

"I know the reason you've _told_ me," Peeta snarls, remaining firmly in his seat on the couch, his posture rigid with anger. "But you still haven't told me the real reason."

"I have zero interest in dating a rock star," I spit, moving to pace the small living space furiously. "I don't usually do relationships period. So having a very public, highly criticized one has no appeal for me whatsoever."

"Then what are we doing?" he asks with a groan, reaching up and running his hands through his hair. "Why are we even bothering?"

"You were the one who wrote that ridiculous song and had Finnick sing it for me," I retort, whirling around mid-stride to face him and the couch again.

"You said never said 'no' to any of that," he says in a soft, dangerous tone. "You kissed me right back in that scaffolding."

"You _seduced me_," I hiss, my voice rising in pitch to match my welling emotions.

Peeta's laugh is humorless and dry. "_Seduced_ you? For fuck's sake, Katniss, you've been giving me sex eyes since the first day we met. Who seduced who?"

"You have a tongue ring!" I nearly screech, reaching up and pulling at my braid desperately, my panic mounting as the entire situation goes spinning out of control around me. What in the hell is happening right now? "How am I _supposed_ to respond to that?"

Peeta doesn't respond. Instead he sits there on the couch, gaping at me. I instantly flush, the room going silent as my last retort hangs heavy in the air over us. What have I just admitted? That I find Peeta's oral adornment irresistibly sexy? That I was seduced by him the moment he opened that delicious mouth to reveal that tiny glittering ball of sexual possibilities.

Peeta slowly comes around, shaking his head with a look of wonder. Slowly he stands, eyes locked on mine as he does so. He strides toward me, and I'm rooted to the spot by his stare. I see in my mind's eye the handful of deer I've hunted and killed over the years, and the look of trapped horror on their faces as they see their doom encroaching upon them. In this moment I am the prey, Peeta is the hunter. And I know this is the end of my life as I know it.

"My _tongue ring_?" Peeta asks, his tone one of seductive surprise. He's pressed up against me now, and he puts his hands on my body, one at my hip while the other slides up my back to entangle itself in my hair. "Tell me, Katniss. Why does my tongue ring seduce you?"

I have no words. I am petrified where I stand, unable to run, unable to speak, unable to respond at all. He leans forward and puts his face to my neck, sliding his nose up the column of skin to my ear. He gives the lobe of my ear a nip and I jump, the bite shooting straight to my groin. I can feel him smile against my skin as his nose travels to my face and runs its familiar path up my nose in a teasing? brush.

"Is it how it feels against your lips and tongue when I kiss you?" Peeta asks. He dips his face and presses his lips to mine tenderly at first, then be gives my bottom lip a soft bite. It startles me, but not so much as the tongue that follows, soothing my lip. I can feel his tongue ring slide across my lips, a teasing caress.

"Hmm," Peeta murmurs as I shiver in delight at the feel of the ring against my lips. "That seems to work." He kisses me again, harder, and when his tongue lightly presses against mine I don't even hesitate to open my mouth to him. His tongue is soft as it strokes mine, the ring on it an entirely new sensation I've never felt before.

"Yes," Peeta gasps as we pull apart, and his lips curve into a teasing smile. "That certainly seems to be part of it."

My head is swimming, but there is one thought that flits through it which I manage to grab hold to. '_If I don't stop this now, we'll never stop_.' I put my hands, which I had subconsciously raised and woven into his hair during the kiss, on his chest and push him away. I push him harder than I intended to, knowing the faster I created a gap between us the higher the chance I could avoid being ensnared by him again. He stumbles a little bit, not expecting this response from me.

"We need," I groan, "to talk about this. About us. We can't ignore this anymore."

"No," sighs Peeta, falling back onto the couch suddenly, almost hitting his knee on the coffee table as he says it. "I suppose we can't."

I sit down beside him, my descent a little more graceful than his. His eyes are still shining with a barely veiled passion as he stares at me, but I know he's going to try to behave, to let me get this out of the way. I appreciate it at the moment, knowing if he would have decided to push me a few seconds longer I would have caved to his kisses, to the feel of that delicious tongue...but he didn't. And my heart warms toward this man again, my anger ebbing a little. There's something about Peeta Mellark that makes it too hard to stay mad at him for long.

"I'm not ready," I say slowly, turning and tucking one knee up on the couch so I'm facing him, "to tell anyone about us."

Peeta lets out a barking laugh, rolling his eyes as he reaches over to take my hands in his. He turns himself so his position mirrors mine and we're facing each other perfectly. "I hate to break it to you, but I think our friends already know."

"They have their suspicions." I sniff, resisting the childish urge to stick my nose in the air at him. "But I'd rather not confirm them."

Peeta shakes his head at me with a sigh. "I don't understand what the harm in them knowing would be. Do you really think any of them would gossip to the media about us if we made it clear we didn't want them to?"

I know Gale, Madge and Prim can be trusted to keep the secret. Rory and Finnick too, now that I think about it. The only one I'd consider twice would be Johanna. But no, not even her. She may be tactless at times, but she can keep a secret if tasked with it. As heartless as my friend can be at times, I know I can trust her.

"No," I admit with a shrug. "But I don't see how them knowing would change anything. It would only put the pressure on harder to make this work between us."

"And there's no pressure now, trying to keep the secret?" Peeta asks, bewildered. "Do you know how stressed I always get trying to stay neutral about you? I'm exhausted at the end of the day."

"I know," I confess. "But if something goes wrong, everyone will know about it."

"Everyone knew today, and no one technically knows about us." Peeta sighs, raising my hands in his to kiss one of my knuckles sweetly. "I just want to be able to put my arm around you when we're sitting next to each other. I want to be able to kiss you goodnight. Is that so wrong?"

I hesitate, unsure how to respond. At times, I want those things too. I see Madge and Gale together, even Johanna and Finnick during their flirtatious shooter game battles, and I wish our relationship could be that easy. But the thought of everyone watching, observing, waiting for something to go wrong...

"Katniss," Peeta says, his tone sterner now. "None of our friends cares if we're together or not, as long as we're happy." He hesitates, then adds, "I make you happy, right?"

I think about this for a second. _Does_ he make me happy? I think about those first few flirtatious weeks of the tour, of dancing in the club that first week. I remember the song in Denver and the kiss that followed, all the kissing that's followed since then. The sunrise in the Garden of the Gods, the cheese buns last night...

"Yes," I say firmly. "Yes, you do."

"Then what does everything else matter?" he asks, his lips forming a shy smile now. "If I make you happy, and you definitely make me happy, then what else is there but for us to be together?"

"I can't stand the...judgment," I finally say, putting a word to my fears. "I'm not a spotlight girl, Peeta. And as soon as the media knows we're dating, it's all over from there. They'll pick apart our relationship piece by piece."

"I'm not talking about the world, Katniss," Peeta says supportively. "I'm just talking about our friends. We can start with them, try this thing without having to hide it all the time. We're never going to know anything about if this will work if we're always hiding."

"Just our friends?" I ask, my tone giving away my caving will. "No one else?"

Peeta shrugs. "We'll just start there. We can reassess later, once we're more comfortable."

Do I want this? Do I want to belong to this man? I think of all the screaming girls who accost him at concerts and festivals. I replay in my mind the kisses girls put on his cheeks, the adoring compliments as he signs autographs, the profane things girls scream at him...can I handle that? Is he worth it?

"Yes," I finally say, answering his question and my own internal ones. "I think that's an okay place to start."

Peeta's face morphs into one of shock. His grip on my hands tightens as he stares at me, his jaw dropping as he stares at me disbelievingly.

"What?" I ask, tilting my head and raising an eyebrow at him. "I thought that's what you wanted."

"I—I did...," Peeta stutters out, his grip on my hands relaxing finally as he begins to stroke the backs of my hands with his thumbs. "I just didn't think you'd agree right away. I thought you would want to think about it for a little bit."

"You made a convincing argument," I say, my voice teasing now as I shake my head at him.

"I did?" he asks.

"Yes," I admit. "Just now and earlier." I add this bit at the end, thinking of his ministrations with his tongue I'd been subjected to a few minutes ago. Dear Lord, he'd made his point about that tongue ring very well. He must have no doubt now about what he can do to me with that thing.

"I did?" he repeats. It takes him a second to understand my meaning, but when he does finally get it, his eyes flash. The passion he'd held in them before this conversation returns, and he raises an eyebrow at me as his eyes lock with mine. "Oh, right. I did."

He pulls my hands back up against his chest, sliding them up until they hit his neck. He parts my hands then and places them on the back of his neck. He leaves them there, his own hands leaving to reach for my hips. He grips me tightly and my fingers instinctively slide up his neck to bury themselves in his hair. He pulls me closer to him, nearly in his lap, and nuzzles into the crook of my neck.

"I'm seriously in awe," he murmurs against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. "I never thought you'd say yes to that."

"What did you think I would do?" I gasp, his breath hot and tantalizing against me.

"I figured you'd say no again," he says, pressing a kiss to my shoulder, sliding the strap of my camisole down to expose the skin there. "And I'd eventually cave to you."

"Cave?" I ask, my hands sliding down from his hair to his back, where I grab at his simple white t-shirt. I try and fail to not clutch it desperately between my fingers.

"I can't seem to say no to you," he says with a sigh, bringing his lips across my shoulder to my collarbone where he kisses me more. "I'd never have been able to break this off without you initiating it. If I can have you in any way, I'll take it."

"Well in that case," I tease, feebly trying to pull him off me.

He smiles against me, his lips trailing upward toward my face. "Not a chance, Everdeen. I'm not about to let you back out on your word."

I run out of witty responses as he reaches my cheeks. His kisses are soft and brief, but I can feel the tension he's holding on to as he makes his way across my face, ever closer to my lips. The word "please," is out my lips before I even process the word in my mind. His answer is his kiss, which has now reached my lips.

I'll be the first to admit that I've had some pretty awful kisses. And, sadly, it's always the cutest guys who kiss the worst in my experience. It seems guys are always a fruit or a vegetable. The fruits are soft and squishy and, while they taste sweet, they're a little too wet at times to have them all over your lips. Vegetables are clean and firm, but often times a little too bland for most people's taste. While both are okay in their own way, neither of them leave you all that satisfied or pleased with the results.

Kissing Peeta is so much more than all of that. I can't even classify his kissing, because kissing Peeta Mellark is unlike any experience I've ever had. Most men are eager to try and control the kiss, to force themselves on you and bend you to their will. But not Peeta. His kisses are soft yet insistent, coaxing my lips to meld with his. His fingers wind themselves into the hair at my neck, ignoring the restrictions of my braid, and he gently move my head the way he needs it to gain better access to my mouth. And while I've always had to struggle against the urge to fight men for dominance in kissing, I have no desire to fight Peeta. We're a team as we kiss, moving as one so perfectly that I swear the edges of me melt away until I'm not sure where I end and he begins.

My body begins to suck in air faster, and I get dizzy from the sensation of kissing him. My hands are desperate now, clawing at his shirt. I'm hungry to feel his bare skin, to find the muscles that lie under his shirt and hold on to them for grounding. Reflexively, I reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it upward. He doesn't protest, just removes his lips temporarily from mine to allow me to pull the shirt from his body. As I do, he reaches for the hem of my camisole as well, yanking it quickly upward.

Once the fabric is cleared from our faces, Peeta instantly crashes his lips back onto mine. His kisses are more insistent now, and he presses past my lips to swipe his tongue across mine. The feel of the ring again makes me swoon, and the lightheaded dizziness begins to grow worse. His tongue explores my mouth hesitantly at first, then works to coax mine to bond with his kiss, firm but sweet in his caresses. The sensations are beginning to build to an intensity that brings my body to a fever pitch, a wetness growing between my legs, accompanied by a throb that's getting harder and harder to ignore.

He pulls his lips from mine, trailing kisses back down to my collarbone where he'd originally began. His hands, which had been at my waist, wind a path upward to my bra. He traces the hemline of it, starting at the sides and slowly working his way backward. He's giving me time to say no, to draw a line in the sand and stop this from going further.

"This is happening, Peeta," I murmur to him, lightly tracing my fingernails up and down his back.

He purrs against my skin, giving it a nip as his fingers expertly pinch and release the clasp of my bra. He reaches and slides the straps of my bra down my shoulders to my arms. I retract my arms from his body to let the garment slide off me to the ground, where it falls forgotten. I think to reach for his body to pull him close to me, but instead Peeta pushes me backward to lay lengthwise across the couch. His fingers rise to my breasts, tweaking the peaks experimentally.

I gasp, my back arching off the bed at the sudden sensation of it. He grins down at me in approval and bends down to plant a quick kiss to my lips before sliding down my body until his face is level with my breasts. His grin turns wicked as he stares up at me, his eyes shining with delight and passion, which sends new tendrils of warmth to my core. He tilts his head back down and, to my surprise, swipes his tongue across my right breast, flattening his tongue so I can feel the ball of the ring slide across my skin. He stops at the tightening bud, rolling his tongue around it a few times and letting the ball trace circles around it. I groan, the throbbing between my legs becoming more insistent as he suckles it to a tortured peak. When I'm ready to beg for reprieve, he moves to my left, giving it the same treatment to the other side. My fingers flit up to his hair to stroke his soft locks desperately, unsure if I want to rip his face from my skin or hold him tighter. He chooses for me, pulling his lips from me to look up and give me a devilish smile.

"Have we found another place you like my tongue?" he asks, his breath cooling the wetness on my breast and making me shiver.

"I can think of lots of places I would like your tongue," I say warmly, biting my lip as I imagine the possibilities.

Peeta's eyes darken. "I remember the first time I saw you do that. I wanted to fuck you so badly in that moment."

His words surprise me, but a response is out of my mouth so quickly I think I'd been subconsciously waiting for this moment. "Well, why don't you then?"

I don't know what I'd expected him to say to that. Maybe blush and look embarrassed, to tease me or maybe even kiss me to make the awkwardness of what I'd just said disappear. But he doesn't touch me. Instead he sits up and starts fumbling with the button on his jeans, his eyes locked in a passionate stare with mine.

"This isn't how I'd envisioned this, you know," he says, his tone even as he finally manages to free the button and zipper of his pants. He puts his hands at his hips and takes hold of the fabric of his jeans, pulling them slowly downward. It takes me a second, but I eventually register he's taking his boxers down with them. Slowly, inch by inch, more of his glorious skin is revealed. It's pretty obvious quickly he's well-groomed. Not waxed to hell like Johanna, but obviously he takes care of things down there. The idea makes me shiver; has he been planning this?

"How had you envisioned this?" I say, the last word turning into a strangled gasp as his pants fall low enough that his heavy erection springs free, giving me my first view of him. My fingers dig at the fabric of the couch, itching to reach out and touch him as he leans forward and puts one arm next to my ribs for balance while he pulls his pants down and off his legs.

Peeta shrugs, calmly reaching for my jeans now. How can this man be so composed at a moment like this? For fuck's sake, he's hovering here naked over me while I'm half-naked, and he's working to remove my last remaining pieces of clothing. Only the shaking of his hands reveals his nerves and excitement as he fumbles with the button. I contemplate reaching up to help him, but I'm rather enjoying the look of concentration on his face as he tries to undress me.

"I don't know," he says softly. "Rose petals and candles while I play a song I'd written for you. Champagne and silk sheets." His fingers finally succeed and he pulls the metal button through the denim of my jeans then tugs down the zipper. The precious time he's taking to undress us is intolerable. Doesn't he know I want to fuck him?

"This works fine for me," I gasp, lifting my hips in an attempt to assist him with the removal process, hoping to hurry him along. "Plus, silk sheets are too slippery to get anything done."

Peeta gives a low chuckle and obeys my cue, sliding my jeans and panties down my body slowly. He's kneeled between my legs and bends down to kiss along my hip and the outside of my leg to nip at each inch of skin he reveals. When my jeans hit my knees, he lifts my legs in the air so he can finish pulling the denim from them. Once the jeans are off of me they're tossed to the side to join the rest of the forgotten clothes strewn around the bus.

He puts my legs back down, one of each side of his hips. He bends down to kiss my legs again, this time making their way across the top of my left one, the opposite side of which he'd trailed on his way down. He kisses his way up this time, moving at the same slow pace he had on his way down. My body grows more and more tense as he travels upward and I'm stiff as a board when his lips are nearly to the juncture of my thighs.

"I'm going to kiss," he says, reaching up to slide two fingers across my clit firmly and slowly, "_here _someday too." The too-quick pressure is tantalizing, stringing my body tighter as he does it, a gasp escaping my lips. "But today, I really only have the patience to fuck you."

"Yes," I hiss, reaching my arms out to take his face in my hands, determined to pull his face up to mine. He obeys, surprising me, following the pull of my hands back toward my face. He kisses me again, hard and heavy, and I wrap my legs instinctively around his waist. His erection brushes against my core and I groan into his mouth.

"But not here," he sighs, and for a horrifying second I think he's going to stop everything. Instead, he reaches behind him to grab one of my ankles, making sure my legs stay firmly locked around him as he leans back and pulls me with him to stand. I'm wrapped around his body, my legs and hands holding us firmly together. Peeta turns and heads toward the back of the bus. We pass the wall beds and the small dressing area, making a beeline straight toward the back of the bus—toward the one queen bed on the entire bus.

"Gale and Rory's bed?" I tease. "This is romantic."

Peeta groans as we reach the bed, bending over and placing me carefully on the surface. "It's better than the couch where your sister eats breakfast."

I cringe. "Touché."

Peeta grins wickedly down at me. "If I'm being honest, at this point I couldn't care less where we do this. I just need to be inside you." His gaze turns hot as he adds, "Now."

"Condom?" I ask, gyrating my hips against his, sliding my slickness up his length.

Peeta groans. "Keep doing that and I won't need one," he says, but he leans over me, reaching toward the small nightstand by our heads. He pulls open a drawer and digs around for a second. Then he withdraws his hand quickly, shutting the drawer roughly, with a foil square clutched in his hand. He leans back, taking the wrapper in his mouth to tear the foil, exposing the rubber inside. He quickly discards the foil, then presses the condom to the tip of his thick erection.

"Next time," he mutters, rolling the condom down his length, "_I'll_ be the one on my back and you can do this for me."

I hum in agreement, spreading my legs farther and reaching for him. Peeta leans down a little more, putting his shoulders within reach. I grasp at them, wrapping my fingers securely at the rippling muscles there for support as I feel him reach down to take his length in his hands. He guides himself to my entrance, pausing to rub himself along my slit slowly. I groan and roll my hips, eager for the penetration we've been working up to. He looks up at me and grins, his smile as teasing as his ministrations.

I'm about to protest when he suddenly pushes into me, my wetness making it easy for him to slide all the way to the hilt. I gasp, the feeling of delicious pressure and fullness increasing the throbbing of my clit. Between my dry-spell and his girth, I'm going to be undone just from the feeling of him inside me.

Peeta shakes above me, his hands locked at my waist as he squeezes his eyes closed. He doesn't move for a few moments, as if _he's_ the one having to adjust. When he does finally open his eyes, they're fiery and fierce as they lock on mine.

"You're going to unman me, Katniss," he groans, pulling out slowly. The feeling is otherworldly, and the tension in my body tightens by the feel of him. He leans down further as he pulls out, pressing his lips firmly against mine. His entering thrust is more forceful than last time, which he mirrors by increasing the intensity of our kissing, coaxing my lips open to allow his tongue entrance. He doesn't retract slowly again, instead he begins a slow and steady pace. It's as if he's trying to drive me mad with sex, which is a real possibility at this point. Especially as he tilts his hips so his pelvis brushes against my clit with each thrust.

"Fuck," he mumbles against my lips. "You keep tightening...fuck. I don't know if I..."

Peeta trails off, and for a second I contemplate asking him where he's going with that sentence. But my tongue is heavy and useless, the only sounds I can muster are groans of pleasure and moans of approval with each thrust he pushes into me.

But when he reaches his hand between us to rub furiously at my clit, I know what he's unsure of. He's close, and he's determined to get me off too.

"It's okay," I sigh, pressing my lips to his neck and nipping softly at the skin there. "Let go, Peeta."

He grunts low in his throat, and I feel it as he climaxes, his body going rigid as he pulses inside of me. His groan of satisfaction is sweet and I think for a moment I could get off on just the sound of him.

"I'm sorry," Peeta mutters, bracing himself on his elbows to keep his weight from crushing me. "It's...been awhile for me."

"Me too," I say, leaning up and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "It'll take me a little while to get back into the swing of things."

"Me deciding to be a minute man doesn't help much," he sighs, sliding out of me slowly. He doesn't look at me the whole time, keeping his head down as he slowly pulls the condom off. He ties it off and wraps it in a few Kleenex from the nightstand before tossing it into the nearby trashcan.

"Hey," I say, reaching out to put my hand at the side of his face. "Didn't you mention 'next times' earlier? This wasn't a one-shot thing."

Peeta's eyes lift and he's got a shy smile on his face now. He chuckles, rolling over to the side to lay beside me.

"That sounds fantastic. But," he pauses, interrupted by a yawn, "I think I'll need a quick nap before I can do that again."

"I suppose I can allow that," I tease, turning to my side to rest my head on his chest. "But just a little nap."

To my surprise, the edges of my vision quickly darken, sleep calling me down so fast I can barely register I'm sleepy. Peeta's words are the last thing I hear, echoing sweetly in my mind as I fall into slumber.

"Yes, baby. Just a quick nap."

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

So, everyone give my beta Court81981 a loud round of applause for betaing this last night so it could be posted today. The readers and I thank you, my friend!

You've all been begging for more tongue-ring action, so I hope that pleases everyone who's been asking for it. There will be more to come.

Come see me on tumblr, simplyabbeycat, and talk to me! I love hearing from you guys. I post excerpts from time to time and there will be some drabbles showing up soon.

Just a heads up: I'll be starting a fresh round of classes on Monday, so updates may be a day or two late depending on my work load and Court's. If there will be a delay, I'll announce it on tumblr.

Shout out to FanfictionWoman2000, who's writing a fic inspired by Seize Me. Keep an eye out for her story "Waves", coming soon :)

Thanks again for reading, you guys. I don't know if I'd be doing this without your support. The more reviews you crazy people leave me, the more you fuel my creative fire. You're just as responsible for how this fic is turning out :)


	12. Chapter 12

Seize Me

Chapter 12

_ I know that you want me, _

_I can see it in your eyes._

_You might as well be honest 'cause_

_The body never lies._

_TLC-Red Light Special_

"It's really easy," Peeta murmurs, his breath warm on my neck. "You just have to put your fingers on the right place with the right pressure."

"Hmm," I sigh, leaning back into him. He's sitting behind me and I'm cradled in his arms, still naked, with the sheet pooled around my waist. "Why don't you show me that again?"

Peeta chuckles against my skin, nudging me with his knee in admonishment. "Focus," he demands, biting my earlobe.

The nip makes me shiver, raising goosebumps on my skin. My nipples tighten in response, my body already so in tune him and his desires. It'd be easy to attribute it to the ease that comes with the first time making love, but it's more than that. Things between Peeta and me have been natural from the beginning, as if this role is natural for us. It's unnerving to a point, but in moments like this when our bodies are so close it's hard to find it as anything other than comforting.

"How am I supposed to focus," I ask, turning to look at him over my shoulder to find his grin mirroring mine, "when you do things like that to me?"

Peeta doesn't answer; he just repositions my fingers on the strings of his acoustic guitar. He'd gone to fetch it after our nap when learning that while I can sing, I have no idea how to play an instrument. I'd been annoyed at first, the idea of leaving behind our lovemaking an unhappy one. But once he'd positioned himself behind me with the guitar in my lap, stretching over me to show me various notes, I'd been contented.

I'm not really doing any playing. He's actually the one with his fingers on the strings. I'd been able to get the pressure right, but finding the positions my fingers needed to be in has been a challenge. So my hands are rested over his, following his changes in position, while I pluck the notes. He'd moved on from individual notes a little bit ago to teaching me how to build chords. And now, finally, he's teaching me how to play a song. The notes tug at some distant memory which fights toward the surface of my mind. It takes me a few minutes of frustrated searching, but finally I find a name that fits with the tune.

"Dust in the Wind," I sigh, leaning my head back to rest in the crook of his neck contentedly. "I love this song."

"I know," Peeta murmurs, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "You sang it with Gale when you visited."

"I did," I say slowly, suddenly remembering that day in their dorm. Gale and I had been sitting in the living room of the small apartment he shared with Peeta, working our way through our favorite songs from our childhood. Peeta had come downstairs from his room to jokingly ask Gale to keep it down, but he'd refused to look at me. I'd assumed he'd been a little angry at us for keeping him up. Now, knowing how Peeta felt about me back then, I can see the memory a little differently. I turn my head to look up at him as I stop plucking out the notes, washing us in silence. "How do you remember all of these things?"

"I remember everything about you," Peeta says simply, burying his nose in the hair at my crown, his fingers picking up where mine left off. "Will you sing for me again?"

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. I haven't sang since college, not having much reason to want to sing these last few years. Singing was always something I did with my dad, then Gale. But Peeta's fingers are rolling expertly across the strings of the guitar and I feel drawn to let my voice free. So, instead of answering him directly, I start to sing. I don't lift my head from Peeta's shoulder. I keep it there, the feel of his skin against my cheek a solid anchor.

_"Same old song,_

_Just a drop of water in an endless sea._

_All we do,_

_Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see._

_"Dust in the wind._

_All they are is dust in the wind."_

After we've gotten through the second verse, Peeta's fingers fumble and he loses the notes. I expect him to curse or apologize. Instead he just sighs heavily and buries his face in the crook of my neck. I can feel his lips pressing against my skin in the shape of a smile.

"I'd forgotten just how beautiful you sound when you sing," he says with a small chuckle. "You really are amazing."

His words surprise me, and I can feel the heat of embarrassment starting to build in my face. "I thought you remembered everything about me," I tease, a steady blush creeping its way up my neck to my cheeks. His breath on my continues to raise goosebumps where it brushes and my nipples are tightening again, the delicious heat at my core rising again.

"I remembered that you sound beautiful. Just not that beautiful. " There's a beat of silence, then he says, "You should sing with us some night."

"What!" I gasp, turning sharply to face him. His expression is one of astonishment, my reaction clearly not the one he'd been expecting.

All sexual desire I'd been feeling for him moments ago has vanished, replaced with a sensation of dread. I thrust the guitar away from me, breaking his hold on it easily due to his surprised state. I toss it onto the bed beside me carelessly and seize the covers around my waist to drag them up to cover my exposed body. Something sick and heavy rises up inside of me and I suddenly no longer feel any desire to bare myself to him.

"You sound amazing," he says, his tone one of surprise. "It'd be nice to switch it up a little. You and Finnick would sound great together."

A crawling sensation of horror winds its way up my spine, making me shiver. Singing is something very personal to me. It was something my father and I did together, just the two of us. I share that part of my life with a very limited pool of people. My mother and sister. Gale. Now Peeta. The people I trust. But to sing in front of an audience?

"No," I say firmly, locking my stare with his. "Not happening."

Peeta shakes his head. "Okay," he says softly, surprising me with his easy acquiescence. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. "Not happening."

I reach up instinctively to wrap my fingers in his curls, the feel of his lips on mine erasing the sick, crawling feeling from moments ago. I let the sheet fall to my waist, leaving my skin bare to press up against his. He puts a hand at the small of my back, pulling me closer. I adjust my legs beneath me so I'm fully facing him now and Peeta's hand at my back yanks me flush up against him, my breasts sandwiched between us. Fire skitters through my body, originating at each part of my body touching his.

He leans back, pulling me with him until he's laying flat on his back and I'm perched over him, still holding me tight up against his body as we kiss. His hands leave my back and my hair to go to the crooks of my knees, pulling them forward so I straddle him.. He runs his tongue across mine, the delicious bar in it adding to the heat of our kiss. I shiver and can feel my body open to him, my core pressed sharply against his growing erection and my mouth hungrily trying to draw him in to tease me with that tongue over and over again.

Peeta breaks the kiss suddenly, gasping for air as he does so. I open my eyes with effort, my lids heavy from the lust coursing through my veins. The fire in Peeta's eyes matches the fire running through me, the look in them one of teasing desire.

"I think you'd wanted to enjoy my tongue ring more places than your mouth and your tits, if I remember right," he says slowly, treating each word as if he's tasting them delicately, relishing in the dark promise of them.

It takes a moment for the statement to break through the haze of my longing, the words gaining meaning one at a time as they wind their way to my consciousness. Again, I'm surprised by how observant he is when it comes to me, maybe even everything. He picks up on more than I realize, which is unsettling for me.

"I don't think I've ever made any sort of proposal for where your tongue should go," I retort, my heart racing beneath my breasts so hard I'm sure he can feel it beating against his own.

"No," he says calmly, his eyes still boring into mine. "But I remember that look you gave me when you saw my tongue piercing for the first time. Your expression didn't leave for any guessing where your mind went."

The fire in my veins is now morphing into a heated blush of embarrassment. which is climbing up my neck to color my cheeks. "You were awfully cute, then, playing dumb earlier when I brought it up."

Peeta's answering laugh is almost a bark, it's so abrupt. "You caught me a little off guard just saying it like you did."

I roll my eyes, attempting to mentally force the horrendous blush away. "Well, you flustered me."

"Yes," he croons, bending to run the tip of his nose up the bridge of mine. "And I can think of a lot of other ways I'd like to fluster you."

And, suddenly, he flips us over so he's leaning over me. His teasing smile is gentle and sweet, despite the domineering tone that's coming through in his voice. He's still very much Peeta in these moments, proud and assured while still being the gentlest man I have ever met. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips, the sweetness of it making me moan against him. His lips curl into a smile and he breaks the kiss, moving his lips over to my cheek. He doesn't stay there, though, instead gradually making his way across my face to my neck and down to my shoulders and chest. I expect him to stop at my breasts and tease my nipples, but instead he continues downward. With every inch of downward progress I can feel my body grow more and more tense, his destination becoming more obvious as he goes.

He does pause for a moment at my belly button, leisurely dipping his tongue in and out of my navel. I groan and squirm, the sensation torn between pleasure and intensely ticklish. One of his hands holds my gyrating hips to the bed while to other snakes up to palm one of my tits. He works it gently, his index finger and thumb latching on to pinch and tease the bud mercilessly. I groan, lifting my chest from the bed in an attempt to force my breast harder into his hand. He chuckles and looks up at me, a sight so erotic I can barely stand it.

"You should pierce this," he says, indicating to my belly button with a slight nod of his head. His smile is wide and expectant, as if he knows I'm going to protest.

And I intend to. But, to both our surprise, I instead say, "Maybe someday."

"What's a groupie without a little metal in her skin?" he asks, winking at me before dropping his face to return his lips to my skin, effectively kissing away any objections to his use of the word "groupie."

He makes his way across my pelvis to my right hip, kissing his way toward the my thighs. The further down he goes the more I squirm. Eventually, he has to remove the hand fondling my breast so he can hold my hips down with both hands. He settles his body between my thighs, reaching to draw my knees up so my thighs are resting on his shoulders with my feet behind his arms. I claw at the sheets and throw my head back in frustration, fighting the urge to grab his head and pull his lips to my core, embarrassment a foreign emotion in this moment. He nips my skin a few times as he goes, making me hiss at the pinprick of pain. But his tongue always immediately follows, soothing the sting. I close my eyes, struggling with the conflicting sensations. It's a delicious sort of torture, the bite of pain followed by the erotic sensation of his tongue and the stud in it dragging across the tormented skin.

I'm about to demand satisfaction when something warm and wet glides across my clit, making me jump in surprise. Holy hell. My eyes fly open as I lift my head to look down at him. Fuck. I'd thought him looking up at my from my _navel_ was erotic. There he is, his tongue with that fucking stud in it sliding across my swollen clit while he stares up at me with a look of pure innocence. He does it again and again, harder and harder every time until I'm gasping. That tongue ring is living up to all of the sexual potential I'd dreamed it had. It's a sensation unlike anything else I've ever experienced when a man has gone down on me. I'm seriously starting to believe Peeta and his tongue ring will sexually ruin me for all other men.

"Peeta," I gasp, surprised by how quickly my orgasm is approaching. "Shit."

"I know, baby," Peeta croons, pulling his tongue from me as he says this. I'm about to protest when suddenly his middle and ring fingers are sliding into me, curling to brush against my G-spot. I gasp and my fingers leave the sheets to fly into his hair, desperately grasping at his curls as my body is assaulted with rippling waves of pleasure. "You can let go."

His tongue returns to my clit, moving in synchronization with his fingers. Between those two things and his words still hanging in the air, I'm suddenly seized by my orgasm. I cry out and my knees press together, holding his head in place as every muscle in my body clenches over and over again as I ride wave after wave of pleasure. Despite my thighs' grip on his head, Peeta still manages to flit his tongue over me a few more times, sending fresh waves racing through me.

I'm about to beg for mercy when he stops, pressing a firm kiss to my clit while his hands press into my hips in an attempt to help center me. I finally feel my body begin to relax and I sigh, releasing the breath I'd been holding. I don't really register Peeta sliding up my body, only realizing he's moved when I feel him pressing tender kisses to my neck.

"As good as you were hoping for?" he asks, the laughter in his voice obvious even without looking at him.

"Hmm," I sigh, coherent words still beyond my abilities at this point. I can't even bring myself to open my eyes right now and share the post-coital bliss with him.

"I'm going to take that as a 'yes' unless you say otherwise," he says with mock seriousness.

"Hmm," I repeat, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I turn my head a little toward him, cracking open my heavy eyelids to look at him. His face bears a look of contentment as well, surprising me.

"Why do you look so pleased?" I ask, confused. "You didn't get anything out of that."

Peeta shakes his head a little, rolling his eyes at me as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his embrace. "I like making you happy," he says simply.

"Oh," I murmur, unsure how to respond to that. So instead of trying to answer him, I make a point of raising my arms and pointing my toes, stretching wide. I'm preparing to make a comment on how exhausted I am again when I feel my leg bump against something solid, followed by the sound of something falling off the bed to the floor with a hollow thud.

"Shit!" Peeta exclaims, catapulting himself away from me in a pointless attempt to try and catch the guitar. The sheets go flying, his limbs flailing as he nearly sends himself toppling over the side of the bed after it.

"Oh no!" I gasp, shooting up to sit and gape after him. Horror slides through me, replacing the feelings of bliss as I immediately begin envisioning his guitar laying on the ground, broken in two. "I'm so sorry."

Peeta's head and upper body momentarily disappear over the edge of the bed for a moment but then reappear quickly with the guitar in tow.

"It's okay," he mutters, turning the apparently-still-whole guitar over in his hands. "I don't think it hurt anything." He turns to me and gives a teasing smile. "Did you hate the guitar lessons that much?"

I scoff and grab a pillow from behind me, throwing it at his face. Disappointingly, I miss.

"No," I answer honestly. "I'd like to keep going with that, actually, now that our study break is over."

Peeta's grin is nearly ear to ear as he opens his mouth to answer, only to be cut off by a new, unexpected voice.

"Oh god."

Peeta and I both jump at the sound of Madge's voice from the door of the room. My first reaction is to seize the sheet that's pooled around my waist and yank it up to my chin, forgetting the fact Madge has seen more than a little of me during our time living together. Peeta's face turns a little green as he adjusts the covers on his lap, making sure everything is covered. And all the while Madge is just standing there, leaning on the door frame with a wicked grin on her face.

"Not what I expected to see," she says teasingly, "but definitely what needed to happen. Feel better?"

"What the hell, Madge?" I snap, grabbing the pillow I'd recently aimed at Peeta and throwing it in her direction. My skills as a marksman fail me a second time, the pillow landing a good three feet in front of her. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"It was never a problem before," she says simply, the wide grin still plastered on her face.

"You've got to be kidding me," says another unexpected voice.

_No. No, no, no, no, no..._

Gale's face is pale with horror as he appears over Madge's shoulder, staring at us in disgust. "My bed? You had to use _my_ bed?"

_I think...I'm going...to die._

Peeta's regained his composure a little and his lips rise into a half-smile as he takes in his friend's horrified expression. "Funnily enough," he says, "all of the other beds were taken."

Gale snorts. "That's interesting, because I recall seeing perfectly acceptable couches in the rest of the bus."

"As silly as it may seem," Peeta retorts, "we wanted a bit more privacy than that. For some reason, I thought a _bedroom_ would give us more privacy."

"Guys," I whisper, my face burning with a blush that has only intensified as this conversation has gone on, "I'm _naked_ under here. Do we _have_ to do this now?"

"I have to say," Gale says as he turns to me, wearing a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "of all the times I thought about them in high school, this is not how I'd envisioned seeing your tits for the first time."

I freeze, horrified. I glance toward Peeta and I'm relieved to see he's rolling his eyes with a small smile for his friend. Of course, boys will be boys. But I'm full of dread when I glance toward Madge. Gale's innocent crush on me was well known in middle school and forcibly forgotten in high school. But I've always worried there'd be a day when Madge would second guess Gale's feelings for her over me.

But apparently today is not that day. Madge just rolls her eyes at her boyfriend then gives me a an apologetic smile. "No, you're right. I just thought you guys would want to know what happened back at the hotel."

The change in her tone is noticeable. The teasing mood is gone from her face, and it's been replaced with a look of seriousness and contemplation. Whatever happened, Madge thought it warranted coming out here to the bus to disturb me and Peeta. The anger in me dulls and cools to a gnawing pit of worry.

"What's going on?" Peeta asks, his tone also shifting to something more grave. He's picked up on the mood change as well, maybe he even knew Madge had something important to say the instant they walked in the room. Peeta is good this way, able to read people's emotions better than anyone I know.

"Haymitch figured out who trashed the girls' room," Gale says somberly. "It was Operate Alive."

"What!" This was not the statement I'd been expecting to come out of Gale's mouth. I'm so shocked, my grip on the sheet slips a little. I manage to catch it before completely revealing myself, but not fast enough to keep the blush from creeping up Gale's neckline. "How?" I ask.

"It was Glimmer," Madge says, the girl's name coming out like a hiss as she says it. "She pretended to be Johanna and got the room key. She and Clove trashed the place; the hotel got it all on tape."

"Why would they do that, though?" Peeta asks, his head tilting to the side quizzically as he raises an eyebrow. "What good does it do them?"

"They were mad at Johanna for picking a fight with them, for stepping in and embarrassing them," Gale explains. "When Johanna got between Glimmer and Finnick she put herself in the line of fire. They wanted to scare her off, and the rest of you girls too. Your song for Katniss has everyone talking so much that Operate is starting to worry the girls will give us a boost in sales. They're hoping if the girls leave we'll lose our momentum."

The information about Peeta's song surprises me. I hadn't heard about it much after that night in Denver, and they'd never played it again. I hadn't known it had made such an impression on the fans. What does this mean for Misery's Fortune?

Madge chuckles. "Obviously they underestimated Johanna. A stunt like this only makes her _more_ determined to stay."

I shake my head. "What is Haymitch going to do?"

"That's the best part," Gale says, his eyes shining with amusement. "President Snow was specific that Operate Alive should be booked at a lot of the same venues we're at to get a good idea of who the public prefers. They're playing at the same place as us tonight. And as luck would have it, they're booked in the same hotel as us. So when Haymitch, Rory, Prim and I ran into them in the lobby, Haymitch took his chance to confront them and their manager, Seneca. Threatened them with the bill from the trashed hotel room and that we'd file charges, take the whole incident public."

"I thought the hotel wasn't charging us for that," I say, confused, "because it was their fault?"

Gale grins. "They aren't, which made it all the more hilarious. Rory and that Cato guy really got into it and Cato finally shoved Rory. And Prim...god, Katniss. You should have seen her."

The blood in my veins runs cold. My sister, up against Cato? The idea would be comedic if I wasn't convinced Cato would break my sister in two without a second guess. Imagines of Prim with a bloody nose or broken bone or any of the like come flooding through my mind, each more grotesque than the last.

"Prim?" I say softly, my voice hoarse as my throat closes up with apprehension. "Is she okay?"

Gale barks out a laugh and Madge is grinning ear to ear as he says, "Okay? She was brilliant. Laid into him like an old librarian. I swear, he was cowering by the end of it. Clove and Glimmer got in a few ending piss-ass retorts, but Marvel and Seneca were scared to open their mouths around Prim. They all ended up sulking back up to their rooms after that."

I relax as Gale regales the story, the fear in my body melting into pride. Of course Prim, my beautiful and strong sister, would cut those bullies to pieces. My small, sweet little sister is a fighter underneath it all. She can't stand to see anyone try to push their way through life and will call anyone out on it without a moment's hesitation. It's in moments like this that, despite all the things I wish I could have given her, I feel like something went right in our childhood.

"Where was Johanna during all this?" Peeta asks, eyebrow raised in curiosity. "I'd like to see how she took all that."

Madge shifts uncomfortably, biting her lip in the way I know she does when she doesn't want to say something. "She and Finnick...they had a big argument after you left. Finnick came over to talk to Prim, to figure out what was going on between you guys. But then Johanna made some snarky comment about maybe it was your fault for being so distant and...well, Prim and I excused ourselves when the shouting started."

Gale shakes his head. "There's something really fucked up going on there, I just hope Finnick keeps his head on straight enough he can sing tonight."

"I think that's the problem," Madge says thoughtfully. "He doesn't seem to ever get that affected by what's going on between them."

"Whatever," Gale says. "I can't keep up with all of this goo-goo crap going on. Rory and Prim, Finnick and Johanna, now you two," he adds, gesturing toward Peeta and me. "It's like this is some sort of reality dating show, not a tour."

My snarky retort is on the tip of my tongue when Madge jumps in, saying, "We'll leave you two be. The rest of us are going to go grab an early dinner before the show...unless you guys want to join?" She asks this last bit hesitantly, as if she's trying to figure out where Peeta and I stand after this.

"We'll catch up with you later," Peeta says quickly, giving Gale a meaningful look.

Gale snorts. "Just be at the stadium by 6, Haymitch wants to have a meeting before the show starts."

"We've got it, Gale," I snap, glaring at him. "Could you just go now, please?"

Gale rolls his eyes but gives me a quick grin as he waves before turning on his heels and striding away. Madge hesitates for a moment in the doorway, as if she wants to add something else. Instead she just says, "I'm trusting you to pick out your own outfit tonight. Just...try not to dress like you're in middle school, okay?"

I gape at her for a moment, offended by this statement more than I thought I'd be. When I finally get my words back they come out clipped and irritable. "You've got it, Your Highness."

Madge rolls her eyes, an expression that seems to be popular with her and Gale right now. "I _am_ happy for you, you know?"

I sigh, then say, "Yeah, Madge, I know. Now can you go? I'm still naked under here."

Madge gives a laugh and turns abruptly on her heel, striding away from the room quickly. I don't move a muscle until I hear the sound of the bus door opening and closing as they leave. I let out a sigh, slumping to my right to lean against Peeta as I relax my aching arms to let the sheet drift back to my waist.

"That wasn't exactly how I'd envisioned them finding out," Peeta says softly, turning to press a kiss into my hair.

"Yeah," I say in agreement. "Me neither. But it's done now."

"I suppose so," Peeta mutters, shimmying away from me to the edge of the bed. Then he throws his legs over the side and stands, reaching above his head to stretch upward. The flex of his muscles is entrancing and I catch myself staring as I watch them ripple under his skin as he works them loose. I think he says something, but I don't catch it the first time.

"What?" I ask, shaking my head a little to clear the cloud of desire that had been starting to descend over me. How does he have this immediate affect on me?

"I said," he says, his tone smug, "that we should probably hurry and get cleaned up if we want to have time to grab a bite to eat before the show."

"Oh," I say, looking over to glance at the clock. It's two o'clock now. What's his worry? "We have four hours."

Peeta's expression morphs into something wicked and teasing as he says, "Yes, which should leave us enough time for you to model all of your outfit options for me. Madge did say she wants you to look good tonight."

The muscles at my core clench in anticipation. Oh yes, I like this idea very much.

"Last one to the hotel is a rotten egg," I say, launching myself off the bed and promptly tangling myself in the sheets, falling to the floor in a tangled mess.

The next fifteen minutes are filled with the sounds of Peeta's uncontrollable laughter.

* * *

I really could lay here like this forever, wrapped in Peeta's arms. After an hour or so of teasingly modeling ridiculous rocker clothes and stripping them all off, we'd fallen to the bed for another heated session of lovemaking. Again, I find myself entangled in a naked embrace with him, content with the world. His eyes are closed at the moment and I wonder if he's sleeping, but his chest is moving too rapidly and I know he's just enjoying the moment like I am. I sit up a little, putting my weight on my arms, to look at him. I'm relieved when he doesn't make a move to open his eyes or mirror my position, because it means I'll be able to enjoy looking at him for a few minutes.

His skin is nearly flawless, something most girls use tons of products to achieve, and I can't help thinking how unfair it is. I can tell he's been slacking on shaving for a day or two because there's a fair amount of stubble on his cheeks and chin. I reach out and run a finger along it, delighting in the sandpaper feel of it. He gives a soft growl in appreciation but doesn't open his eyes. Encouraged, I move my finger to other parts of his face. I run my finger along the bridge of his nose and down to his mouth. There I trace the bow of his lips, marveling again at how soft they are. He opens his lips and gives my finger a quick nip on the pad, making me give a little yip in surprise. He chuckles in a low tone but doesn't open his eyes. I shake my head at him, which of course he doesn't see, and run my finger back up his cheeks to his forehead and then his eyebrows, stopping and taking care to inspect the stud though his right eyebrow. It's a simple silver bar with a ball on each end and it glitters in the hotel room lights. It's entrancing and sexy, sending a pool of warmth straight to my core. And then I remember the other piercing, the one in his mouth, and I shiver as I remember the feeling of it grazing over my own tongue during our fiery kisses, and the feel of it on other places too.

Peeta's eyes are open now, staring at me intently. I can tell he's trying to figure me out, to decipher what I'm thinking as I examine the piercing.

"Do you hate it?" he asks, surprising me.

"What?" I ask. I turn my gaze from the eyebrow stud to his eyes, seeing the worry in them. "Why would you ask that?"

Peeta shrugs. "You don't seem like the...piercing type. I mean, you're sexy as hell and I love you in your rocker gear," he says with a small chuckle. "God, do I love that. But you seem pretty...straight-laced. No nonsense. And the way you reacted to Prim getting one that first week...well, I just figured you were opposed to them. I mean, other than the one in my tongue, which obviously serves a very useful function." He adds this last bit with a teasing smile and a small blush that creeps up into his cheeks.

Several different phrases, comebacks, and denials run through my head. But he's right, of course. I had scolded my sister, who had snuck off and drunkenly gotten belly button piercings with Johanna at one of the guys' concerts at one of the questionable piercing booths. I'd been livid, because it's something I'd never expected out of her. But lately there's something about the way those glittering bits of metal catch the stage lights that seems to make so much sense in this world. They're entrancing and beautiful.

And maybe it's this train of thought that leads me to blurt out, "I want one."

Peeta's eyes widen in surprise. He blinks a few time, processing what I've said, then says, "Are you serious?"

I sit straight up now, staring down at him intently. "Yes. I want a piercing."

Peeta sits upright, shaking his head. "I don't fucking believe it."

I'm offended by this. I cross my arms in front of my chest and say, "What don't you fucking believe? I'm not some pansy, Mellark. And I may be straight-laced, but I do know how to have fun. And I like pretty things as much as the next girl. Why can't I pierce something?"

Peeta takes my shoulders in his hands, laughing as he says, "No, no. That's not what I meant. Gale..." He hesitates for a moment before continuing. "Gale had made a bet that by the end of the tour you'd have gotten a piercing. I just didn't think he was right."

I'm miffed by this. What business does Gale Hawthorne have making bets about me? "Well, in that case, I can wait a few months in the interest of lightening his pockets a little."

Peeta shakes his head furiously. He throws his legs over the bed and stands up, grinning down at me. "No way, Everdeen. You're not backing out of this now. You said you want a piercing, we're going to go get you a piercing."

And suddenly he's off the bed and grabbing his boxers and jeans, pulling them on quickly. He doesn't put his grey Iron Maiden shirt back on, instead striding shirtless over to the door separating the girls' suite from the guys'. He pulls open the door and hurries into the room, not bothering to close the door behind him.

"Hey," I shout after him, still laying naked and abandoned on the bed. "What am I supposed to wear?"

Peeta's head peeks around the door, his smile wide as he says, "I liked that last one."

Of course he did. It was the one with the black pleated skirt and red single-sleeve top, the most revealing of them all. I'd only put it on to finish the seduction, never having any intention of wearing it out of the hotel room. But between the recent bliss of fucking all afternoon and the excitement of doing something spontaneous, I'm feeling bold tonight. So I quickly gather up the skirt and shirt from the floor and tug them on while making my way toward the dresser set. A quick glance in the mirror tells me immediately I've got sex hair, so I weave my hair expertly into my usual braid. My make-up leaves something to be desired without Johanna here to do me up, so I just throw on a little powder and a fresh coat of mascara to make me passable. Johanna or Prim are bound to have some make-up with them at the stadium and so they can fix this mess when we get there.

Peeta appears suddenly, closing the door between their suite and ours sharply. He's changed into a simple white shirt paired with his jeans, a breathtakingly sexy outfit in its simplicity. Not noticing my appreciative stare, he walks over to the main door of the suite and pulls on his Vans hurriedly, hopping on one foot to pull them on while grabbing his keys and wallet from the table by the door. He's got his wallet in his teeth and is pulling on his last shoe when he looks over at me, apparently confused.

"What's the hold up?" he asks, his voice muffled around the lump of leather in his mouth. "We're wasting time here."

I'm still standing there with my mascara brush frozen in front of my face, staring at him. There must be something on my face that confuses him because he shakes his head and laughs softly.

"Katniss, we don't have to if you don't want to," he says gently, dropping his wallet into his hand as he talks. His eyes are soft and sweet as he watches me. "But if you want to do this, let's be spontaneous about it. There's a great shop downtown that did one of Finnick's tattoos and _his_ tongue. If there's ever a town to want to spontaneously get a piercing in, this is the one to do it in."

It must say a lot about the place my mind is in right now because the first thing I manage to croak out is, "Finnick has his tongue done too?"

"You hadn't noticed? Yeah, he lost the bet to Gale too. Finnick and I went and got it done together, Gale practically dragged us by our ears to get us there." Peeta's eyes go slightly dull at this and he turns his head away. I can tell he's forcing himself to be jovial when he says, "Does that make him more intriguing? Have I lost my leg up on him?"

I'm shocked by this. Is Peeta...jealous? The idea gives me a strange sense of forbidden warmth, tapping into my primitive emotions of female dominance. Smiling, I reassure Peeta as gently and firmly as I can.

"No," I say in a low voice, turning my attention back to the mirror to glide on one last coat of mascara. "And I'm pretty sure _your_ tongue is the only one whose piercing status I'm interested in."

Peeta's cheeks turn a slight shade of red and he turns to face me now, smiling broadly as he says, "Good. I'm glad."

I take in his smile for a moment until he snaps me out of its glow by throwing me my godforsaken stilettos, which would have hit me in the face if I hadn't already put down the mascara brush. I catch them at the last second, one of the heels ending up scarily close to my face. "Now hurry up," he says. "We have a cab to catch."

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

So here it is, finally, the latest update. A hundred hugs to risingfromtheshadows for sending me possibly the sweetest pm ever and misshoneywell (peetaspenis) and nmoreblack (dirtytalkingpeeta) for being a mini-cheering squad on tumblr while I was struggling to get my writing done and was throwing out pathetic excerpts in an attempt to hold people off. It may not have seemed like much, guys, but it definitely gave me a boost :)

I've had a couple of requests for songs or things to do in this fic. They won't appear in the actual story of Seize Me, but I'm going to make a collection of drabbles and one-shots based on your requests. Feel free to request anything from K through M, I'm happy to do it all. And, if it inspires me, I'll let you know when I post it. But they won't be going up until after SM is finished. I'll look at requests for non-SM ideas as well!

Just so everyone is clear, **I will not be promising weekly updates for now**. This is a WiP so I have to sit down and write every chapter before I can post it, plus each chapter has to spend some time with the wonderful Court for betaing (thank you a thousand times again, my friend!) and I like to have the next chapter at least half-way done for cohesion. Basically, what I'm getting at is it takes time, so be patient with me. With grad classes starting back up again, I don't have as much time to dedicate to writing as I'd like...

Feedback fuels my creative fire, lovely readers. After the three-week delay, I'd like to know if it was worth it :)


	13. Chapter 13

Seize Me

Chapter 13

_I paint a picture of the days gone by _

_When love went blind and you would make me see _

_I'd stare a lifetime into your eyes _

_So that I knew you were there for me _

_Skid Row-I Remember You_

I'm not sure if the smell of antiseptics that greets us as we enter the tattoo and piercing shop is reassuring or horrifying. To anyone else it would just smell clean, but mixed with my adrenaline and nerves, I can only think about the hundreds of instruments of torture this shop carries.

The shop is small and mostly undecorated; the walls that are not covered by drywall are instead left bare to show the building's red brick structure. The front area has a few small chairs lined up against the wall on our left, and on the right is a long display case full of different bars and balls and god knows what else. The lady standing behind it surprises me with her fairly plain appearance compared to what I'd envisioned a tattoo and piercing artist to look like. Her ears are pierced four times from the lobe up the ear, along with a tragus on one ear and a rim on the other. She's wearing a simple black V-neck shirt and I can see two, maybe three tattoos peeking up past her neck line. Her wrist is tattooed and on her left hand she's got an intricate heart tattooed on her ring finger in place of a wedding band. The overall effect is actually quite nice and I feel like this is the girl I'd want piercing me, not the big, burly guy I'd envisioned in my head.

"Hey," she says, smiling warmly at us. "How's it going, guys? Good to see you again, Peeta. Lose another bet?"

Peeta gives her an easy smile and walks up to the counter, dragging me behind him by the hand.

"You would remember that," Peeta says easily as he leans one arm on the counter. "She—" He yanks me up next to and against him. "—would like to get something pierced."

The girl turns to me and gives me a genuine smile. "First time?" she asks. I nod my head, unsure if I can manage words yet or not. "Have you thought about what you'd like?"

I gulp. Actually, this is _not_ something I've thought about at all. Do I want an eyebrow piercing like Peeta? Or do I want to add to my simple double ear piercing with something like this girl?

Peeta immediately jumps to my rescue, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. "This is kind of a spur of the moment thing."

The girl gives me a smooth smile. "Those, I think, can be the best sometimes. But we'll talk it over and figure out something you won't wake up tomorrow regretting. Do you want it to show or be hidden?"

I shoot a brief look at Peeta's eyebrow piercing before blurting out, "I want it to show."

Peeta raises said pierced eyebrow in surprise, but I can tell he's pleased by the answer.

The girl smiles. "That helps. What do you think of your nose?"

I ponder this for a moment, letting the idea of it sink in. My nose? I hadn't thought about it, but I consider the suggestion. Most of the girls at the bar have a nose piercing, and these days no one even blinks at them. And after the tour is done, it will be almost healed and I can put in something discreet, maybe a slight twinkle like glitter, and it shouldn't cause any problems getting a professional job.

"Yes," I say slowly. "I think that'd be perfect."

I can sense Peeta's amazement, but he doesn't say anything, which I'm relieved about. I don't want this to be about him or what he approves of, despite the fact he's the one who's talked me into this. This is about me and what I want. This tour has already opened me up to ideas and things I never gave a second thought about. This piercing is about that, and not the dark, seductive look my guitar player is giving me right now.

"Awesome," the girl says. "I'm Summer. I'll do the piercing for you. You can pick out the piercing you want from our starter section. Do you want a stud or a ring?"

"A ring," I respond automatically, fighting off a blush as Peeta gives me a little smirk.

"Great!" Summer pulls out the tray of small, thin rings. None of them are very fancy, which I guess I should have expected since they're going to be in a fresh piercing. The only selection among them is that a few of them are in different colors like pink, blue, gold and green. I consider the colors for a moment or two but eventually settle on a simple silver one.

"Good choice," Summer says, putting my selected ring on a small silver tray and putting the starter rings back in the display case. "Everything is surgical steel, but some people have a problem with the colors when the piercing is fresh."

"Do people have reactions often?" I ask, horrified. I'd never considered the idea before, but the idea of a raging infection or skin reaction in the middle of my face is not something I'm interested in.

Summer shrugs. "Not usually in piercings like the nose or the ears where we don't go through lots of skin. But in things like belly buttons or eyebrows some people's skin will reject the piercing and push it right out through the skin. It's kind of wicked, actually, when the body does something like that. Do you have metal allergies?" She says it all in such a rush that I almost miss the question.

"Not that I know of," I answer slowly, staring at her nervously as she comes around the counter and leads us past the tattoo chairs to a small piercing room.

"That's good," Summer says, setting down the tray with my piercing on a small table immediately inside the door. "But I've seen people with no metal allergy in their ears have a wicked reaction in other places. Surgical steel is the least likely to cause a reaction, so don't experiment with any other metals for about a year. That way the piercing is completely healed and set before you start introducing possible reactants."

I gulp and turn to Peeta, who's unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile behind his hand. "Relax," he says softly, "it's just your nose. It's like getting your ear pierced. The worse ones are stuff like navel piercings and dermals. This is no big deal."

"Dermal?" I ask, wrinkling my nose at the word. It feels unpleasant in my mouth, and I have a feeling the answer is going to make my skin crawl.

"Small jewels, like permanent bedazzles on your skin," he answers simply, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "They're really common with girls."

"Permanent?" I question, surprised. "How is it permanent?"

"We make a small cut in the skin," Summer says, eyes bright with mischief. "The jewel has a small post on bottom of it. We put the post into the skin, then the skin heals around it. After that it's permanent, you can only change out the jewel by screwing in a new one."

My face pales and Peeta doesn't even bother to hide his laugh this time. "Why would someone _do_ something like that?"

Summer's grin is ear to ear, and Peeta shrugs jovially as he says, "A lot of girls put one at their cleavage line or on their wrists. They think it's sexy."

"You don't want _me_ to do that, do you?" I ask, suddenly very nervous standing in this room with the two of them. Maybe this wasn't the greatest idea.

Peeta rolls his eyes as he shoves me into the room. "Like I could make you do anything you didn't want to."

"I'm here, aren't I?" I ask, examining this piercing room skeptically. The walls are a bright white, broken up by large, vibrant paintings. There's a large cabinet against the far wall with a mirror beside it, I assume for checking out your newest metal. The only chairs in the room are the small, wheeled stool like the sort you'd see a doctor sit on in his office and the lounged chair in the center in the room, which looks far too much like a dentist chair for my liking.

Summer gives a small, easy laugh and strides over toward the cabinet, calling over her shoulder, "You can take a seat in the big chair, I'm just going to grab the supplies."

I throw Peeta an alarmed look, which he pointedly ignores by striding over to one of the paintings. I sigh and climb into the chair sulkily, dropping my small purse to the floor beside me. I'm there for only a second when I start to fidget, my nerves getting the best of me. This had seemed like a fun idea in the hotel room, a way to cut loose and join in on all the fun. But now I can't help staring at the packet Summer is pulling from the cabinet, wondering how ridiculous the size of a needle is that she's going to plunge through my nose.

"These are all beautiful," Peeta says thoughtfully, eyeing a particularly vibrant painting. "Local artist?"

"You bet," Summer says brightly, setting the packet down on the same table she'd left the piercing tray on. "One of our tattoo artists, actually. He does a little canvas work for extra income, but you should see what he can do with skin."

"Hmm," Peeta murmurs softly. "Is he in tonight?"

"Sure is," chirps Summer. "Free for the next two hours, too, if you want to meet him."

"Please," Peeta says, turning around with a broad smile on his face. "That'd be great."

Summer returns his smile with a brilliant white one of her own, and in turn, turns to me. She's strapped on a pair of surgical gloves and is holding a cotton swab in her hand. "Do you know what side you want it on?"

"I guess I hadn't really thought of it," I admit sheepishly, giving my shoulders a shrug.

"Most people do it on the left side," Summer says. "But we can mark up both sides and you can tell me which you like better."

This seems like a logical approach, so I agree. She runs the cotton swab over my whole nose, explaining as she does so that it's an antiseptic to help prevent infection. Then she uses a small pen to draw a small dot on both sides of my face. She hands me a hand-held mirror then to inspect both sides. And, honestly, I can't really see a difference.

"Do the left," Peeta says suddenly, sensing my dilemma. I look over to him and he's giving me an encouraging smile. "It'll look fantastic."

I look back to Summer and give her a small smile. "Left side it is," I say, handing her back the mirror.

"You've got it," she says, putting the mirror back away.

Then she reaches for the small table by the door and pulls it on its wheels toward her. She grabs the plastic packet from the top, and I can see now it's a surgical packet marked with "nose" on the front. Inside it are only two things: a small, brown cylinder that looks like cork and a capped needle. She pulls open the packet and takes the cork first, bringing it up toward my face.

"I'm going to put this in your nose first," she says calmly, gently putting the bit of cork in my left nostril. "It'll make it easier to pierce."

My breathing is picking up now, the cork in my nose making the air whistle as it passes quickly in and out. Without thinking, my hand blindly begins to search for Peeta's and I find it strong and steady beside me. He gives my hand a small squeeze, which I return ten-fold when Summer pulls out the needle, which is about two and a half inches long. She turns to me and gives me a reassuring smile.

"You've had your ears pierced before, right?" she asks softly.

"Twice," I manage to say, my throat closing up with anxiety.

"Probably with a piercing gun." I think it's meant to be a question, but it comes out more like a statement. She wrinkles a nose a little bit as she says it. "This will probably hurt about the same as that, but shouldn't have as much pain because there's no blunt-force pushing it in." She tilts her head to the side and gives me a sympathetic look. "Ready?"

I take a deep breath, then say, "Probably as ready as I'll ever be."

Summer steps up beside me again and places her fingers on the tip of my nose, holding it in place, while the other hand grips the needle. She instructs me to take a deep breath, during which I feel the slight prick of the needle against my skin. She asks me to breath out and as soon as I do, she plunges the needle into my nose. There's a painful pinching sensation, but I realize Summer was right, it wasn't much worse than getting my ears pierced. The needle presses into the cork in my nose, and Summer slowly pulls the cork out of my nose, pulling the needle through the new hole as well. Once the needle is half-way through my nose, she stops pulling on it and leaves it hanging there while she grabs the piercing.

While Summer's back is turned I hear a click that sounds suspiciously like the shutter of a digital camera. My eyes shoot up toward Peeta, who's holding his phone in his free hand and taking a picture of me, a wide and triumphant grin on his face.

"Peeta!" I gasp, releasing his hand to make a grab for the phone. "Gimme that!"

"No way," teases Peeta, sliding the phone into his jeans pocket. "I'm keeping this for future reference."

"Future reference?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. "What the hell does that mean?"

Peeta doesn't get a chance to answer because Summer returns with the ring in hand, but he still manages to get in a decent eye roll in my direction.

Summer does something with the top of the needle, attaching the ring somehow, then slides the needle through my nose the rest of the way. When it slides through, pulling the ring with it, she does some sort of twisting motion. I flinch when the pinch of pain temporarily morphs into a burning sting as she finishes maneuvering the ring into place. When she's done, she slides the needle completely out of my nose, cork and all, and that's it. My nose is now pierced.

Summer beams as she hands me the mirror again so I can admire my new nose ring. It takes a few minutes for me to clear the tears from my eyes, but eventually my reflection comes into focus and I'm astonished. It looks...good. More than good—it looks natural on my nose. Despite the fact that side of my nose is now red and a little puffy, I'm already in love with the way the small ring glitters in my nose. I look up at Peeta, who gives me an approving smile. The way his eyes are shining hungrily at the moment tells me a lot more than his smile does. I know that he finds it sexy as hell, which sends a thrill up my spine and a wave of heat to wash over me.

Summer explains the basic care instructions to keep the piercing from getting infected and to help it heal appropriately. She even gives me a small sealed cup of sea salt for soaks with a piercing care pamphlet. When it comes time to pay, Peeta doesn't even give me an option. He slams down enough money to cover my entire piercing, other rings and studs to put in later once it's healed enough, and a generous tip for Summer.

"Can I get you guys anything else tonight?" Summer asks, bagging up our purchases.

"No," Peeta says, "except I'd love to meet the artist from those paintings, if he's still here."

"Oh right, sure thing," she says, moving back around the counter and heading for the back, "he'll be excited to meet you, too."

I turn to Peeta and raise an eyebrow at him after Summer disappears behind the brick divider separating the lobby from the tattooing parlor. "Why does the artist care if he meets you or not?"

Peeta's suddenly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and sliding a hand nervously through his blond curls. "I sort of designed the shop's logo."

I turn and look toward the logo on the wall behind the front counter. It's all different shades of gold, a large circle with a bird flying through the center, an arrow clutched in its mouth. Over the logo is the shop's name, Mockingjay. That must be the bird, then. A Mockingjay. A mockingbird and a blue jay? The logo is obviously hand-painted with broad, deliberate brush strokes. Every line of paint is purposeful and strong, lending an air of power to the golden bird.

"_You_ did that?" I ask, admiring the artwork. I wish I could jump up on the counter so I could look at it more closely. "I didn't know you could draw like that."

Peeta shrugs, a hundred shades of red creeping into his cheeks. "I'm okay."

A light bulb suddenly goes off for me, and I feel a smile slide onto my face. "_That's_ why you always smell like oil paints!" I gasp. "You're painting things!"

Peeta's smile is shy as his eyes meet mine. "I used to do the cakes back home in the bakery. It's how I learned."

"Those were _yours_?" I ask, eyes widening in surprise. Images of elaborate wedding cakes and cakes for other events dance through my mind, all of the intricate patterns imbedded in my mind forever. "Prim and I used to walk down to the bakery every Sunday to see all the cakes in the windows. We used to wonder how everything would taste, and we'd make up ideas from ridiculous to irresistible. I can't believe you made those."

"Decorated them," Peeta corrects. "And I know. I'd see you in the window every weekend. I used to wish you'd come in and say hi, but I knew my mom would throw you two out."

I'm saved from having to answer when Summer returns, followed by a sallow-faced man who wears a wide grin as he introduces himself to Peeta. They both immediately launch into a discussion about art, to which I can contribute nothing. So I allow myself to wander away from them and make my way down the front counter, which is set up like a jewelry store display case with hundreds of different studs and rings for all sorts of piercings. I'm most drawn to the belly button bars, which range from a simple dangling star to a full hanging chandelier-style pendant.

Summer follows me, apparently no more interested in discussing art with them than I am. "They'll be at it for a while, I think," she says with a soft smile.

"Is he...okay?" I ask, throwing a furtive look in the direction of the sickly-looking man.

"He's...got an addiction problem," Summer says, the smile falling as she does. "He was in an car accident with his wife almost a year ago. She died in the crash, and he spent over a month in the hospital recovering. Both his legs were nearly shattered. They put him on this new drug, morphling, to help with the pain. He got pretty dependent on the stuff after that and...well, between his chronic pain and losing his wife, he hasn't been able to kick it." Her eyes are sad as she looks toward the man, whose eyes are bright with joy as he talks animatedly with Peeta. "He's a great employee—very professional—and he does the best living art I've ever seen, but I'm not sure how long he's going to be able to go before it finally all gets to him."

Peeta calls me over then to introduce me to the man. I know Peeta tells me his name, but I don't really register it. Probably because Peeta tells it to me as the man and I shake hands, and all I can think about is how frail the man's hand feels in mine, how soft his grip is. I have to fight back a shiver of revulsion at the weakness, the air suddenly feeling heavy around me. I'm relieved when Peeta makes our excuses to go, eyeing his watch worriedly. I force myself to shake hands with the man one last time, wave goodbye to Summer, then rush outside in a bid to make it to fresh air before I vomit all over the pristine tile floors of the Mockingjay.

* * *

"You _didn't_!" Prim screams, latching on to the sides of my face ferociously as she examines my nose. "After all the shit you gave me?"

I snort, but struggle to fabricate a retort. She's right, of course. Her navel piercing is actually rather discreet compared to the glittering ring in my nose, out for all the world to see.

"You look ridiculous," Johanna snaps, fuming for some unknown reason. She's standing at the opposite side of the room from Finnick, which I'm sure plays largely into why she's so irritable tonight.

"No she doesn't," Madge sighs, seizing my giggling sister by the bra strap and pulling her backward away from me. "You look fantastic, Katniss."

"Where did you go?" Gale asks, his head cocked to the side with amusement.

"Mockingjay," Peeta answers with a grin. "Where else?"

"Wait," says Prim, throwing up a hand as if to ward off Peeta's words. "You went _together_?"

A sneaking heat slides up my neck to my face, coloring my skin a horrible shade of red. "He said we were in the same town where Finnick got his tongue pierced. I figured it'd be best to do it some place that's been tried before."

"So you just _conveniently_ decided to get a nose piercing when we're in the same town Finnick got his?" Prim asks, a sly smile sliding across her lips.

I fight off the urge to toss my head indignantly. "Yes, actually, it was spontaneous. Now," I add, seething at my sister, "can we please drop it?"

"Yeah," says Rory, flinging an arm jovially across Prim's shoulders. "We have a show to get to."

Prim sighs in acquiescence and looks up at Rory, giving him a small smile. The smile he returns is bright and warm, a smile born from years of friendship. My heart gives a little pang at the sight of them. I'm pleased my sister is happy, and I know for a fact that any Hawthorne man is a great man to be with. But a part of me wishes I had something like that right now, someone I could be with comfortably. Being with Peeta is exciting, but with the excitement comes fear. Fear that I'm giving pieces of myself away to someone I may not be compatible with in the long run. There's still so much we don't know about each other, and I'm near certain there will be something that drives us apart. I glance toward Gale, the man I could have had years ago. Being with Gale would have been easy, like breathing. My very best friend, whom I've shared so much with. But, as always, something is missing in the center of my chest when I look at him, something I seem to always feel when I'm with Peeta.

Madge gives me a curious look, cocking her head to the side as she stares at me. I almost blush for a moment, worried she's seen what I've been thinking. There's never been a moment of competition or ill-feelings toward each other over Gale, even when Gale proposed in high school. However, I still find myself feeling guilty over considering him romantically, the betrayal of my friendship with Madge stinging in my chest. But after a moment I realize she thinks I've been staring at her, not Gale. Sweet, trusting Madge. I wonder what expression I had on my face at the time. It must have been a hell of a face, because she's staring at me with concern. I give her a tight smile, which she returns after a moment of hesitation. She thinks I'm mad at her.

Madge looks a little green, and it's apparent she's lost a little weight-not super noticeable, just in her face. The look of concern is now on _my_ face as I scrutinize my friend carefully. What's going on with her that she's not doing well? Is the pressure of the tour and fangirls getting to her? Madge has never been overweight a day in her life, having a body with the perfect curves in all the right places. But as I look, I see the thinner waistline under the billowy shirt she's wearing, the way she teeters a little on her stilettos. Have I been so distracted with Peeta that I've managed to completely miss the fact that my friend is sick?

"Madge?" I ask softly. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" Madge asks, putting a hand to her chest. She slides it up her neck to her hair, which she tugs on slightly. "Yes, I just...I think I've caught a bit of a bug." She turns to Gale, who's eyeing her suspiciously now that I've brought Madge's condition to his attention. "I think...I think I may just stay here tonight, if that's okay."

Gale's brows knit together, his lips pressed firmly in a line of concern. "Of course it's okay. Do you want me to stay here with you? Haymitch can probably pull off my bass for the night—"

"No," Madge saying firmly, giving Gale a sharp push. He doesn't move an inch, but she almost falls over from the effort. "I'll be fine. I think I just need a good night's sleep."

Gale sighs and gives Madge a kiss on the forehead, the troubled look on his face never leaving. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," she says, slapping him on the ass as he steps away. Rory groans in disgust as Gale raises a mischievous eyebrow at Madge, who gives me a half-hearted grin in return. I can't fight off the bit of worry that's welling in my gut as I watch my friend critically, but Gale seems satisfied with Madge's assurances. So when Gale throws an arm over my shoulder jovially I don't fight him, but let him pull me toward the door.

"Actually," Madge calls to our retreating backs. "Do you think you could spare Portia for the night? It might be nice to have some girl company."

"Madge," I sigh, turning away from Gale's embrace back toward my friend. "I'll stay with you."

"Not a chance, Everdeen," Madge says with a wide smile. "You need to go support Peeta. I'll be fine. Portia's great."

"I'll tell her," Gale says softly, reaching for her hand and giving it one last squeeze. "I love you."

Madge's small smile is sweet and adoring as she answers, "I love you too."

* * *

It's when we arrive at the concert that I understand why Johanna is so infuriated with Finnick. A small, meek girl is waiting by the dressing room for Misery's Fortune, twirling her backstage pass around her finger nervously. As soon as Finnick's face lights up with a broad smile and Johanna's turns into a mask of pure disgust, I know who she is.

Annie.

Finnick leaves us to run to her, picking her up and spinning her around excitedly. Her laugh is light, like the tinkling of bells as her feet leave the ground to fly when Finnick pulls her into a tight up. She scolds him in a tiny voice, the reprimand almost funny coming from her delicate mouth. It's not until Finnick puts her down that I'm able to get a good look at her. Her hair is long and brown, covering most of her face as she dips her hair shyly. But despite the curtain of hair obscuring her features, it's impossible to miss the brilliant green of her eyes as she glances up at us curiously. She's lovely, if somewhat bedraggled, and I instantly like her. And I also instantly see why Johanna hates her without reserve. It's obvious Finnick adores Annie.

Prim slides up beside me, pressing so close I can feel the heat of her body against mine. "I thought Annie broke it off with Finnick. Did they make up?" she asks, keeping her voice low to avoid attracting attention.

"Apparently," I say softly in return. "It explains Johanna's sour mood."

Prim sighs. "I knew something like this would happen."

"We all did."

Finnick guides Annie over, introducing her to each of us in turn. He doesn't even hesitate as he introduces her to Johanna, either oblivious to the animosity Johanna harbors for his ex or he's just an excellent actor. But Annie is not so oblivious. She visibly flinches under Johanna's cold stare and it takes every fiber of me not to snap at Johanna for being so cruel to an obviously tender spirit. But I refuse flat out to get in the middle of this. This is a battle between Johanna and Finnick, and I will not become a pawn in their stupid little romance game.

As the others file into the dressing room I move to follow, but a strong, warm hand on my wrist stops me. I know instantly who it is as slivers of electricity slide up my arm and bury themselves in my chest.

I turn to find Peeta's wide, endearing smile meeting me. It's matched by the excitement in his eyes, which shines bright in the dim backstage lighting of the auditorium.

"I thought," he says softly, pulling me away from the door, "you'd like to see some of my paintings."

I raise an eyebrow at him, turning to face him better while he smiles sheepishly at my expression. "Your paintings?"

Peeta chuckles nervously and raises a hand to scratch at the back on his head. "Well, one. It's in another dressing room, actually."

That's a surprise. "You have a lot of paintings hanging around this town," I comment, a laugh bubbling through my words.

He shrugs and turns away, embarrassed suddenly. "Before we had our big break, I'd sell paintings to help fund our tours. I sold quite a few here, in the back parking lot of this stadium, actually."

My laugh is full now, no longer a bubble but a full stream of uncharacteristic giggles. Giggling. That's what I've been reduced to in front of Peeta. Fucking giggling. "Come on," I say, punching him on the arm in a pathetic attempt to counteract my giggles. "Show me this painting."

Peeta leads me away from Misery's Fortune's dressing room and toward a large mahogany set of doors, which appear out of place in the slightly grungy atmosphere. The sign over the top says "Green Room."

"This is where they hold meetings with patrons after shows," Peeta explains. "They use it more for stuff like ballet shows. Since rock concerts don't have patrons usually, it should be empty."

He pushes open the door and, sure enough, it's empty. And...green. It's aptly named, of course. The walls are a deep forest green with a rich red carpet to counter it. The couches are a soft gold and the lamps are green to match the walls. The only splash of bright color in the whole room is the one large painting that dominates the biggest wall in the room.

The painting is all shades of golds and reds, immediately bringing to mind images of fire and phoenixes and dancing gypsies. It's not a painting of any one thing, like a landscape or a portrait. It's just a beautiful blend of colors, twirling and twining around each other in ribbons of brushstrokes that take my breath away. I step toward the painting, forgetting for a moment that Peeta is beside me. I'm drawn to reach out and touch it, but some irrational part of my brain is convinced it will burn my fingers if I brush it.

"You," I sigh, "did _this_?"

"Yeah," Peeta says, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment again.

"Out of a car in the back parking lot of a rock concert?" I ask in awe, my eyes never leaving the painting.

"Yeah," Peeta repeats slowly, as if my words have concerned him. "That's how Mockingjay found out about me, actually. One of the guys at the parlor recognized me when we came in because he'd bought one of my paintings for the shop. The owner commissioned me to do the logo. It was pretty cool, really."

"I'll bet," I say, turning toward him with a smile. "This is incredible."

Peeta smiles, and I almost expect him to protest, but he doesn't. "Yeah, I was really proud of this one. "

"Any particular inspiration?" I ask, turning back toward the painting.

Peeta's quiet so long that I have to peer over my shoulder at him to make sure he's still there. He looks uncomfortable, as if I've asked him to recount the first time he caught his parents having sex. He shifts nervously back and forth and refuses to meet my eyes, glancing back toward the painting.

"Remember," he finally says slowly, "when I called you a 'girl on fire' when we were in Colorado Springs?"

"Yes," I say, nearly sighing as I remember the sunrise hitting the rocks. "It was beautiful. Was the Garden of the Gods your inspiration?"

"No," Peeta says softly, eyes locked on the painting. "That's not the first time I've thought of how you look in the sun. I remember how you looked the first time I saw the sunrise hitting your face. Your dad brought you to the bakery for a morning treat. The sun was just starting to rise when you guys came in. I thought you were beautiful then, still sleepy-eyed but excited about the treat. And then, when you guys left, the sun came over the trees and hit your face and you were smiling...it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. And I was actually worried, because you looked like an angel on fire who'd fly away."

I'm silent, my throat suddenly closed up at his words. My chest is rising and falling heavily and all I can think in this moment is that I want him to turn away from that damn painting and _look_ at me. When he finally does, his eyes are dark with desire and longing and...something I'm not ready for yet. He looks beautiful himself then, open and vulnerable and kind and everything I don't deserve.

"I was painting you when I painted that," he says simply. "It's actually called 'Girl on Fire.'"

I'm at a loss for words still, my heart pounding in my chest as we drink each other in. And then, suddenly, I'm in his arms. My lips are on his in an instant, hungrily nipping at them while my fingers grip his hair, holding him to me. His hands are on me too, one at my back holding me pressed up against him while the other is tangled in my hair, which is long and loose and free tonight. I can't get close enough to him in this moment. Every part of me longs to melt into him, to be surrounded and protected by him. A ball of warmth builds in my chest to where it's almost uncomfortable. This man...this man is mine.

Peeta's lips leave mine and I almost whimper at the loss until he trails them across my cheeks to my neck, where he presses soft kisses to the delicate skin at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I sigh as the stubble on his cheeks grazes my sensitive skin, a sharp contrast to the gentleness of his kisses.

"I love you," he sighs against my skin, pressing his lips to me again with the "you."

I stiffen immediately at his words, my spine straight as a board as my arms go rigid around him.

Peeta sighs again, but this time in exasperation instead of pleasure. "Don't get weird about it, Katniss."

"You don't love me," I insist, disentangling myself ungracefully in an attempt to put as much distance between us as I possibly can. He doesn't fight me, but he's not wearing the expression of sadness I'd expected. He just looks...annoyed.

"I do. And I'm not asking you for anything," he adds quickly with a roll of the eyes. "I'm just telling you how I feel, how I've felt since the first time I saw you, and you're kind of ruining it."

"Well," I spit, the backs of my knees hitting one of the hideous gold couches, "you shouldn't say stuff like that when doing stuff like...that. It'll catch someone off guard."

Peeta's about to respond when the doors to the room swing forward, revealing an annoyed Haymitch.

"There you two are," he growls. "Stagehands thought they saw you head in here. It's time for soundcheck, so you better get your ass on stage. I saw Flavius eyeing your guitar, pretty sure he's going to try to join in if you don't hurry."

"Right," Peeta sighs, turning away from Haymitch and back toward me. "I have to go. Just...don't overthink this, okay. Nothing's changed."

And then he's striding out of the room, leaving behind a confused Haymitch and a horrified me. Haymitch overcomes it quickly, muttering something about "early midlife crisis" as he stalks off.

And me...it takes me a full hour before I can remember how to use my legs again.

* * *

.x.x.x.

* * *

So...sorry about the delay in that. You all know how it is in the middle of a semester. I'm a TA for two classes in addition to my grad classes. so I've been swamped lately with paper grading. I seriously will be so happy when mid-terms are done.

I hope everyone who's been angry with me about the lack of Annie is happy now ;)

A huge thanks to Court, who is an angel from beta heaven. You guys should thank her, because she was the one who suggested I update a day early as a treat. In thanks, you should go read her stuff. But you'll probably want a fan ready, because they're all HOT stuff.

Another thanks to Phsco13 for being a big part of my cheering squad lately, and for being willing to help me out with a new story I'm preparing for the end of Seize Me. You're wonderful, my friend.

Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out faster to you guys with mid-terms settling down...except soon I'll have projects to grade...ugh.


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